


Minivan

by carriecmoney



Series: Scarf Dance: HQ!ATLA AU [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Drabble Collection, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 30,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the caravan marches on through wild territory, the leader and his new bodyguard have to explore an even more uncharted wasteland - each other. Pre-Aang ATLA!AU Iwaoi drabble series companion to "Caravan".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Koushi

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: If I'm gonna be honest, this series is as much for the reader's benefit as it is for my motivation to finish the other, actual fic lmao. There will be one little behind-closed-doors iwaoi drabble for each chapter of the main fic, [Caravan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4656738). You may all now re-read the title of this drabble series and groan in unison. THERE ARE NO APOLOGIES IN THE CASH FAMILY FOR PUNS!!
> 
> EDIT: I had to slide the rating up. Chapter 14 is where it shifts from T to M. You Have Been Warned.
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

The Sugawara’s country house feels similar to their city one – not in the colors or the shapes, maybe, but in the smells, the furniture, the décor’s tendency towards sensibly child-proof than elegant, the smiles everyone gives him as he ghosts the hallways. Tooru smiles back   at the maids gossiping while they put out the evening’s lanterns, curling his fingers in a good-night wave as he ducks into his guest room, locking the door behind him.

This guest room is as much his as his attic in Ba Sing Se, the plain headboard marked by his and Koushi’s childhood antics, the curtains open and fluttering, a spare change of his clothes at the top of the closet. Those were a little small now – he’ll have to leave new ones before he sets off for the North Pole in a few days. _His_ command. His heart thumps, and he leans back on the door, pressing two fingers to his smile.

The flutter of the curtains changes tempo for a moment. Tooru looks up at the open window and the stars beyond, smile growing. “Hello, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi – _Hajime_ – swings in the open window, his bare feet leaving a ring of dust on the old carpet. They stare at each other across the room, Hajime’s steady eyes fixed on Tooru like a steak in a vegetable spread. Tooru shivers, the memory of his sweat-heated body clasped to Tooru’s in the solar that afternoon surging back. “It’s good to see you,” he breathes. Hajime tucks a smile into the dimple in his left cheek. Tooru had never forgotten.

“You too, smartass.” Hajime takes a step forward – step back. “You got taller.”

“It’s called _growing_ , Iwa-chan. You should try it sometime.” Hajime’s face darkens, and Tooru grins as he pounds across the carpet to thump a fist into his shoulder. Tooru winces, clutching the spot – that scar always aches at night. Hajime’s face twists, but Tooru beams at him before he can take it back. “And I was worried you’d feel differently about me after so long!”

Hajime gapes – closes his mouth – huffs out his nose. He grabs Tooru’s face with both calloused hands; before he can yelp, Tooru’s yanked down into a hard kiss, grabby and choking, lips caught between teeth. He wraps his arms around Hajime’s barrel chest, lifting him to his toes to put more of his mouth on Hajime’s, the weight pinning him against the door. Hajime’s fingers shake in his hair, breath heavy on his cheek, in his mouth. Tooru presses his tongue to it.

Unlike the afternoon’s quick, sweaty embrace, Hajime smells like lemongrass and rosemary, herbs sharp over the lingering tea clinging to his hair. He had _bathed_ for Tooru. Tooru splays his hands along Hajime’s spine, bottom one sliding down over Hajime’s ass to grab his thigh and hitch him higher. Hajime responds by dropping his hands from Tooru’s hair to sling both arms around his neck, not breaking the heady kiss as he smashes into Tooru’s personal space with all the grace of a boulder. Tooru’s knees bend, the door the only thing keeping him up.

The knock vibrates through his back between his shoulderblades, three sharp raps. “ _Tooru? I brought tea_ ,” Koushi’s voice calls through the door. Hajime snaps away from Tooru’s mouth, still entangled everywhere else. They pant in each other’s faces, Hajime’s dark hazel eyes blown wide, pupils huge. “ _Tooru?_ ”

“Koushi,” Tooru says, low enough to just carry through the door and nowhere else, “I’m _entertaining_ right now. Can it wait?”

“ _Huh? …Oh!_ ” China clatters on the other side as Hajime glowers at him. Tooru smiles, squeezing his leg. “ _Geez, you kids move fast these days._ ” Hajime snorts, a flash of crooked teeth before his forehead knocks against Tooru’s shoulder. “ _Sure, sure, you boys have fun catching up, I’ll make sure you’re left alone._ ” Koushi laughs, his soft footsteps padding out of earshot.

Hajime tugs his leg out of Tooru’s hold, both feet on the ground as he nips at Tooru’s bared collarbone. Tooru hisses through his teeth. “I’ve always liked that guy,” Hajime mutters into Tooru’s skin.

“Same,” Tooru tells his coarse hair, still in its braid. “Now shut up ‘bout Koushi and kiss me again.”

Hajime chuckles right through to Tooru’s bone marrow. “Sure, Tooru.”

Tooru shivers – what branch of bending was it that made his own name sound so sinful from Hajime’s gravel throat?

Hajime uses his latch on Tooru’s neck to pull him away from the door, headed towards the loveseat tucked in a corner with a dark sunset view. Tooru follows for a few steps, hooked on Hajime’s lemongrass, but then – he always hated that loveseat. It’s scratchy, and not what he wants to remember about tonight.

 He hugs Hajime’s waist and hauls him off his feet, Hajime clinging and gasping for a new reason as Tooru carts him to the bed instead, falling back on it, featherspread fluffing around him. He’s laughing, gold bubbles lifting in his stomach that had never been there before – never such a bright metallic. Hajime’s laughing with him, rolling them so their feet aren’t hanging off the edge and he’s on top, crouched over Tooru. He smacks a kiss on the corner of Tooru’s grin, elbows propped wide so his hands can slide up and down Tooru’s arms. “When the hell did _this_ happen?” he asks, tracing the lines of Tooru’s muscle tone. “Last time I saw you, you were a few noodles attached to an airhead.”

Tooru catches his tongue in his teeth. “A lot can happen in a year, Iwaizumi Li.”

“ _Hajime_.” He presses his temple against Tooru’s, heartbeat pounding alongside. “And it was fourteen months, not just a year.”

“And five days.” Tooru twists his fingers in of Hajime’s belt. “You think you were the only one counting?” Hajime huffs, humid breath fogging down the gaping neck of Tooru’s wrap tunic.

“I wasn’t sure.” He nuzzles into the baby hairs above Tooru’s ear. “I never knew, never could, and I couldn’t find anything to fill it up.” He lies down over Tooru, knee up to chest, long steady lines of contact, just what the healer ordered. “Finding the Sugawaras felt like stumbling into the Spirit World.” He worms his hands under Tooru’s heaving shoulders, ankles winding around one of Tooru’s calves. He buries his face in Tooru’s neck. _I missed you_ , the cheap soap says for him. “I never meant to keep you waiting so long,” he whispers.

Tooru swallows on his tight throat, holding Hajime back like they both need. “I never meant to let you.” He reaches up to cup Hajime’s head – tugs the tie off his stupid braid and tosses it to the carpet, unwinding the twists with his fingers. “If you hadn’t sent for me before this trip I was going to come looking again.” Hajime’s hair is loose now, cut still uneven but a hand longer. ‘But ready, this time.”

Hajime hums, melting into his touch. “Have you been training, then?”

“Something like that.” He scratches Hajime’s scalp for him. “I _might_ have scared the daylights out of my parents when I ran away and came back like – well. They hired me a self-defense instructor instead of a babysitter.” He grins at the beige ceiling, the circle of lamplight from his bedside table a flickering orange outline. “The arms are mostly me, though.”

Hajime hums, fingers digging and dancing on Tooru’s back. “So you think you could knock me out now, huh, big guy?”

“Well, maybe not _you_.” He pinches a pressure point on Hajime’s side. He yelps, jerking in Tooru’s grip. Tooru laughs. “I can _always_ use some more instruction.”

“Oh?” Hajime shoves back to his elbows, hair falling around his face, ends brushing Tooru’s cheeks and collar. He’s still got his dimpled smile on. “And how would you pay me, brat?”

Tooru smiles, tucking some of Hajime’s hair behind his ear. “I could teach you how to dance.” Hajime’s flush grows blotchy, smile falling. Tooru traces his fingertips down Hajime’s jaw, thumb grazing his cheek. His throat works under Tooru’s little finger. Tooru tilts his head. “You don’t have to answer now, Hajime.” Hajime nods, hair falling in his face again. He grimaces and rolls to the side, wriggling so he lies proper on the bed (they had been diagonally downwards), twisting it back around a finger.

“ _This_ is why I keep it up,” he growls, gruff coming back threefold. Tooru crawls up beside him, lying in the Sugawara standard of too many pillows, tugging Hajime down so he’s reclining instead of sitting up. Tooru brushes Hajime’s hair from his face, rough and wide and a little squishy and _his_.

“I kinda like it.” The pad of his thumb finds a light furrow on his forehead, just below his hairline. Tooru frowns. “Is this new?”

Hajime reaches up to it, their fingers brushing. “Ah. That.” His mouth twitches. “Let’s just say the first ostrich-horse I tried to ride didn’t like me.”

“You? Mr. City Boy? Trying to _ride?_ ” He tangles their fingers together by Hajime’s ear, snuggling in closer, chin on Hajime’s shoulder and leg thrown over his hips. “How did _that_ happen?”

“Well.” Hajime clears his throat and slides his arm under Tooru’s shoulders, snagging in the hair at Tooru’s nape. “So, uh. The full story?” Tooru nods, nestling in. Hajime sighs.

“Well, after I – left you, I snuck back to headquarters to apologize…”


	2. Aoba Johsai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I have nothing to say about this other than I'm weak and a weakling. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

The girl who asks Tooru to dance tonight is hearty and pretty, smelling like hickory smoke and hands thick against his – working hands. He has a weakness for them, which caught his ‘yes’ more than the blue flowers woven into her hair. Her laugh is throaty and full when someone shoves her in the back and she steps on his toes, and he can’t help but laugh along. He’s never told anyone, but he thinks country girls with their straightforward manners and blunt fingernails are way better than the city’s feminine complexity.

She lets him go after the song ends when he begs of starvation. He kisses her hand with a wink, making her giggle and slap his shoulder. He beams through the wince and hands her off to a new partner, ducking and weaving through the inn’s rowdy patrons to the teal and brown crammed at a back table, glowering into a mug.

“Iwa-chan, you know you don’t have to be so lonely,” he chirps as he slides down the bench into Hajime’s side, legs pressing together. “There’s plenty of girls around for your two left feet to trip over, or at least you could talk to my boys.”

Hajime glances at him from the corner of his eye. “I’d rather not maim a stranger today, thanks.” He presses his knee back into Tooru’s. “And I don’t think your boys like me much.”

Tooru pouts. “That’s because you won’t _let_ them.” He pokes in Hajime’s cheek where his dimple usually digs. “If you stopped being such a porcupine-boar all the time they might figure out _why_ I like you.”

Hajime huffs, nose scrunching. “I am _not_ a porcupine-boar.”

Tooru tugs on Hajime’s braid. “Sure, sure, Iwa-chan. Sure you’re not.” Hajime’s lip curls more. Their backs are to a wall; Tooru only feels a little hot when he lets his fingers drag down Hajime’s spine to rest at the small of his back. Hajime looks away, ears red.

“I’m fine where I am,” he growls.

“You sure are, hot stuff.” Hajime knocks their knees together. Tooru grins, heartbeat thundering under his skin. “Wanna dance?”

“You’re fuckin’ mental.” Hajime rips into a heel of bread with his teeth. Tooru takes a more genteel bite – the bread has nuts and raisins in it, thick and savory. “Everyone would stare.”

“ _Duh_. The two hottest people in the room showing off?” His fingers burrow past the hang of Hajime’s tunic to his pants waistband. “They’d be jealous to their teeth.”

“You only say that because you – because you’ve got some weird obsession with me,” Hajime grumbles. He shoves the rest of the bread into his mouth, red cheeks puffing out. Tooru laughs, leaning harder on him, cheeks almost brushing.

“You can say ‘love’ when it’s not just us, y’know, I won’t-”

Hajime shoves a hand into his face, a finger almost up his nose. Tooru whines and peels it off, pouting his best at him.

“Oh, so you’ve already figured out how clingy Tooru gets when he’s drunk?” a new voice says across from them. It’s Hanamaki, accompanied by Matsukawa, sitting on the bench across from them. “He turns into a snake-sloth before he’s even a drink in.”

Tooru gasps, putting some space between him and Hajime but keeping his thumb tucked where it is. “For your infor _mation_ , Makki, I am completely sober right now!”

“Oh?” Hanamaki raises his eyebrows while Matsukawa’s cat grin spreads. “So Hajime’s just special enough to be subjected to the normal you?”

Matsukawa reaches across the table and lays a hand over Hajime’s latent wrist. “We appreciate your sacrifice.”

Hajime stares at them for a long moment before a smile blooms on his face like a blessed panda lily in the sunrise, single dimple deep. “Well someone’s gotta do it.”

Tooru’s too caught up in his radiance, heart stopped, waistband clenched hard in his fingers – he reacts in the expected manner a few beats late, pouting at them and slouching back against the wall. “I thought _I_ was in charge here,” he whines, overdoing it to compensate for the heat in his face.

“Keep telling yourself that, kid,” Hanamaki says, still laughing. Tooru drapes over Hajime, burying his face in his shoulder.

“Everyone’s so _mean_ to me and I did _nothing_ wrong,” he moans. Hajime pats his head.

“There, there. You’ll get over it.” Hajime cranes around his hair. “Has he always been this needy?”

“Worse.”

“How did you not kill him?”

Tooru snaps his waistband; Hajime jumps. Matsukawa ignores the yelp with a shrug. “Cause he pays us.” He nods at the half-eaten plates in front of them. “Y’all gonna finish that?”

Hajime snatches more bread. “Mama didn’t raise me to leave food on my plate.”

“Oh?” Matsukawa leans on a hand. “So where was that, then?”

 _Shit_. Hajime’s smile falls. Tooru splays a hand on Hajime’s lower back. “Lower Ring.”

Matsukawa hums. Hanamaki butts in, “So how on earth did you hook up with our prodigal son here?”

Hajime glances to Tooru, eyes rabbit-wide. They had never talked about what to _tell_ people. “Uhm.”

The best lie is the truth. Tooru smiles at his audience. “Remember when I took a little sojourn down to your neck of the woods last year?” he asks.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “Shit yeah, half the garrison was out hunting for your ass.”

“Well.” Hajime presses their legs together – they had come back to touching at some point. “Iwa-chan helped me get home.” Matsukawa’s eyes narrow, but Tooru barrels on before he can be too perceptive. “I offered him a job in return for saving me, but it took until now for him to take me up on it!”

“Someone’s gotta look after you,” Hajime growls around bread.

Hanamaki cocks his head. “So what were you doing at the Sugawaras?”

Hajime swallows hard. “Work.” He shrugs. “Lower Ring didn’t fit anymore.”

“I hear that.” Hanamaki smiles. “What part you from?”

The other three switch to talking about neighborhoods, and Tooru relaxes, leaning on Hajime’s side and picking at his bread. He traces his finger back and forth along Hajime’s waistband, spacing out in the direction of the dance floor.

He doesn’t know how long it is until Hajime’s blunt fingernails squeeze his thigh. Tooru blinks, dragging himself away from swirling earth tones – he had almost fallen asleep, hypnotized. His eyes lock on Matsukawa staring at him – where he and Hajime touch. Matsukawa blinks slow at him, raising his cup without a word. Tooru returns the gesture, draining his water.

The corner of Hajime’s jaw _just_ rests on Tooru’s shoulder.


	3. Kyoutani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I regret nothing. Hopefully I'll have a real update in like, a week? [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

Tooru is going to miss inn living. Once they cross the Green River, support for travelers becomes less reliable, and they have to make their own camps, food, and entertainment. Until then, though, they have a hot meal every night and morning, a new pretty face to dance with each evening, and a real bed to sleep in. Or not sleep in.

Tooru hooks his arms around Hajime’s waist, lying back on the scratchy pillows of tonight’s second-best room, eyes slipping closed and mouth opening. Hajime groans over him and sinks down with him, hands snarled in Tooru’s hair, thigh between his. Tooru drinks down all the little noises he makes, spreading fingers over back muscles that shift and dance under his touch. Hajime may have problems with being anything other than boss and bodyguard in public, but not a night has passed that he hasn’t snuck out of whichever bunk he’s given to slither under Tooru’s sheets, warm and rosemary and _his_. Tooru arches into him, fingers bunching up his shirt so the tip of his one little finger grazes bare skin. Hajime shudders, gasping. Tooru exposes more of his back, sticking his whole hand under fabric, feeling the bumps of puckered scars and vertebrae. Hajime breaks the kiss to nose at Tooru’s chin until he lifts it and lets Hajime at his neck, lipping too soft to mark – but Tooru _wants_ it. He digs his nails in, rutting up just a bit – Hajime hiccups, not quite a yelp, and bites down on- Tooru’s shirt collar. Tooru mouths at Hajime’s ear.

“Stop fucking grinning,” Hajime growls against Tooru’s shoulder. Tooru chuckles, pressing his smile to Hajime’s temple. “You’re such an idiot.”

“For _you_ ,” Tooru croons. Hajime slaps the side of his head and props up on his elbows to glower at him. Tooru beams back. Hajime ruffles his hair, and Tooru leans away, giggling.

Hajime’s glower breaks into a smile, a rainbow after a thunderstorm – stills, head turned into the wind from the open window. He huffs, then kisses Tooru’s cheek and climbs off. “Be right back,” he sighs, tracing Tooru’s jaw with a finger before crossing the room and leaving the way he came. Tooru frowns after him, sitting up on his elbows, then flops back, starfishing on the bed and smiling at the wood ceiling, hot and bothered and happy about it.

His command is going stellar so far. Mr. Nobu is only babying him behind closed doors like a professional, the crew is learning to respect him as more than an Oikawa, the weather is great, they’re making good time, and he’s already got his first hire (Hajime doesn’t count). The others may not see Ken’s usefulness just yet, but Tooru has his suspicions about his skill set – and about his origins. He needs to be kept close for observation so Tooru can prove his theories correct.

Koushi’s farmhand is proving to be more interesting than anticipated, as well. Tanaka and Nishinoya had played off each other and kept the crew in spirits even a week into the middle of nowhere, but this steady hand, as much a last minute acquisition as Ken or Hajime, was earnest and straightforward while also impossible to figure out. Tooru picked at the seam of the liner glove he still hadn’t taken off his left hand. Koushi had dropped his name a few times in stories about friends and family, and they had played together as kids when Tooru spent a summer tagging along with the Sugawara clump, but his face had been indistinguishable from any of the others until a few weeks ago. Now, Daichi is the puzzle the back of Tooru’s mind keeps fiddling with on breaks. He’s too big to just be another Sugawara farmhand, too self-possessed and reliable for any task, but he also seems perfectly content in his too-small uniform, leading by example instead of direction without realizing. Even this early onto a new job with new people to work with – something Tooru estimates is not usual for the specialized fields the Sugawaras cultivate – he has earned friends and trust. Potentially faster than Tooru is. What’s his _deal?_

There’s a patter at the window, and Tooru jerks out of his musing to the task at hand. Hajime is backlit in the moonlight, a silver-lined shadow. Tooru feels the smile grow and doesn’t stop it. “Are you ever gonna come in the door like a normal person?”

“No one’s normal.” He approaches Tooru’s bed in silence – have the other guards noticed he never makes noise when he moves, or that his earthbending tends towards small, precise tiles over flashy quakes? Tooru just smiles and doesn’t ask.

“So, what was that about?” he asks instead. Hajime shrugs as he crawls into the bed, taking Tooru’s gloved hand in both of his, peeling the cotton away from his wrist, thumb, ring finger, the stub of his little finger. He tosses it to the nightstand, pressing his mouth to Tooru’s sweaty palm. Tooru licks dry lips, face hot.

Hajime blinks between his fingers and releases his arm; it falls like a rock back to Tooru’s side. “Just a stray.” Sheets rustle as he leans over Tooru, caging him in. A few strands of loose hair from his still-intact braid hang down to drift over Tooru’s forehead. “Now, where were we?”

Tooru matches his darkened smirk and yanks him down to crush their mouths together.


	4. Green River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: If there ever was a fic that I wrote that was a sappy guilty pleasure. It would be this one. For full effect, these two songs are [Tooru's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h161leMNOeE) and [Hajime's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I17pbWC8v9E) current POVs on each other and also I'm dead. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)

They’ve been stuck in Wakunan South for days now, Tooru and Takeru Nakashima locked in a stalemate both of them are too proud to back down from. Bless Tooru’s crew, really – they’re the best daytime distraction from his conundrum and let him release some much-needed steam, even if it never seems to be enough.

Thank _all_ the spirits for Hajime.

In the slow time between dinner and going about Wakunan’s night scene, they have carved out an hour or two to hole up in Tooru’s room, just them. They still make out, but the greater effort to get Tooru up to fighting speed has breathed new life into Hajime’s, and they get even grimier than before, grappling in the bedroom of Tooru’s fancy suite, feeling each other out in new ways. Tooru learns just as much about Hajime’s body like this as he does when they crumble into the sheets. They talk while they fight, about the crew, family, favorite foods, the impossible task of the week set before Tooru. Sometimes, Tooru catches Hajime for a spin, and it’s almost like they’re dancing – until Hajime throws him over his hip onto the bed, tackling after him with a laugh. And that’s okay, too.

But, tonight. When the break comes and Tooru holds Hajime close, he braces his bare feet in the carpet and doesn’t let him move, resting his cheek on Hajime’s temple, swaying in place as his breathing evens. Hajime wriggles for appearances, but he lets it go, warm face in Tooru’s shoulder, arms sliding around his waist. Tooru hums, an idle tune. Hajime’s smile dusts over his bare collarbone.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to do this all the time?” Tooru mumbles. Hajime hums in counterpoint.

“I like having you to myself like this sometimes,” he admits to Tooru’s undershirt, finger snagging in the tight fabric and pulling it tight. Tooru’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Oh, well, when you put it _that_ way.” Hajime chuckles, vibrations rumbling through Tooru like bending. Tooru sighs and laces his fingers together at the dip of Hajime’s back. “Still, they’re not going to persecute you if you hold my hand in front of a few people.”

“I’m not holding your hand at _all_ , asshat.” Hajime presses his mouth to the tendon on the side of Tooru’s neck. “Gimme some time to adjust,” he whispers. “It’s a step, for me.”

Tooru’s heart swells and bursts. “Okay.” He sways them harder (he had stopped), spinning them in a tight half-circle. His eyes slide over a gold-flecked invitation on his writing desk. “Wanna go with me to a party?”

“I just tell you I need some time and you want me to go to a party with you?”

Tooru chomps down on his tongue. “Not like that, _honey_.” He reaches back and takes Hajime’s hands, two steps back so they’re stretched out to arm’s length, Hajime’s dark eyes questioning. “The Nakashimas’ ultimatum is for tomorrow night’s birthday party, and I need someone to keep me from doing anything rash.” He leads Hajime in no particular pattern at all, just an in, out, around – spins him under his arm. Hajime’s wide palms are rough over Tooru’s painful new callouses as his eyebrows furrow, frowning, following.

“Is this a date?” he asks, hand falling on Tooru’s shoulder as he’s spun in. Tooru takes his waist for a few counts of a waltz, joined hands weaving together.

“Only if you want it to be.” It’s different, spinning Hajime around his borrowed carpet instead of a pretty girl on hardwood, hair stuck to their faces and barefoot, but Hajime’s quiet grace sticks with him even here. “There will be a lot of people of all sorts, and alone I can-”

“No.” Tooru pauses their dance. Hajime shakes his head, braid slinging. “No, I can’t chance that. I’ll be recognized.”

Tooru’s mouth falls open. “But- you’ve come out with us without a fuss, and there were plenty of people to recognize you there!”

“But they didn’t get my name,” he points out. “If I went to this thing, there would be introductions, and questions, and nothing works better than gossip in this world, and _I can’t chance that_.” He glances at the cracked door. “Our boys, that’s one thing, maybe one day they’ll find out. But you don’t just defect from the Dai Li, Tooru.” Tooru opens his mouth to protest, but Hajime closes it with fingers under his chin, eyes soft but jaw set. “I didn’t get this far away without being paranoid, and I didn’t get this close to you just to lose you.” His throat works, and his hand falls to curl around Tooru’s neck, watching his thumb stroke the skin there. “Not again.”

Tooru lowers their joined hands to rib height, throat tight. “Oh.”

Hajime clears his throat, looking to the side so Tooru can admire his flush in profile. “This is different than – us. Sort of. Maybe.” He knocks his forehead into Tooru’s shoulder. “Love, I just don’t _fit_ in your world. There’s no space for me in that fresco.”

Tooru frowns at the mantel across the room. “I don’t think that’s true.” He rests his chin on Hajime’s head, neck straining. “You just need to learn how to carve.”

Hajime grumbles some more, but ducks down a hair so they fit together better. “Take Daichi,” he says, a peace lily, “he’s got a good head.” Tooru hums and sways in place.


	5. Takeru

Tooru has many, _many_ problems with the Nakashimas, but he has to hand it to them – they know how to throw a party. All the right people, all the right food, an expensive (if tacky) entertaining space, and a breathtaking view down the canyon that would make any mountaintop eyrie envious. Tooru takes a break from the society with a wine glass on the veranda, mostly deserted at this point in the night as the party guests hide inside from the cold, wet wind. Tooru wouldn’t mind a little rain. He tucks into a slot between two potted trees near where the railing joins the wall, turning his back on the scattered guests, twirling a loose vine around his wrist. He waits.

It doesn’t take long. He smiles down into his cup as rosemary and lemongrass floats on the breeze. “Nice night out.”

“Bite me.”

Tooru gasps. “So forward, Iwa-chan!” He lifts his smile to a smudge on the wall a little darker than the rest. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“Someone’s gotta save the Nakashima kid when you try to throw him in the river.” Tooru chuckles, swirling his wine around in its glass. “You look nice,” Hajime says – mumbles. Tooru beams.

“Why, wouldn’t I love to say the same to you!” A huff. “Come here already, these nice trees keep the pests out while also keeping any nosy people from seeing anything funny.” A long breath of nothing – Hajime crawls up from the cut-away cliffs that make the foundation of the house to hang from the railing between Tooru's elbows, dark prowlers’ clothes on, hood thrown back for the moment. Tooru runs fingers over a black forearm. “You look _very_ nice,” he purrs. Hajime raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t look like anything. That’s kind of the point,” he murmurs, feet bending out a ledge for him to stand on. “I wasn’t about to snoop around in my uniform.”

Tooru hums, still tracing the weave of the shirt’s fabric down to the wrapped-up wristguards. “You do look good in my family colors,” he admits, “but black is _very_ sexy on you.”

Hajime’s cheeks puff out, face darkening. “ _Well_. Uh. You look like shit in white.” Tooru barks a laugh – muffles it in his wrist. Hajime tugs at the clasp at his throat. “You should probably. Get out of it.”

Tooru’s heart flutters, holding the top of his tongue in his front molars. “Iwa-chan, are you saying you want to find a closet and desecrate this tacky house with me?”

“Maybe.” Hajime’s throat works as he peels aside Tooru’s collar to expose his throat, fascinated with the necklace wound around it. “Maybe I just want to desecrate you.”

Tooru swallows, face and hands and chest and _everything_ poker-hot. He opens his mouth to respond and can only exhale. Hajime glances up from the dip of his collarbone to his face – snaps his hand back, looking away. “Sorry.” Tooru shakes his head and holds out his glass without a word. Hajime fumbles for it – their fingers brush like the heat lightning in the distance. He gulps it – pauses. He lowers the glass, staring at it with the same eyes that had just marveled over Tooru’s skin. “ _Shit_.”

Tooru laughs, collapsing on the railing. “Regretting not coming after all?” he asks, smiling through his hair. Hajime shrugs and drains the glass.

“I know where the kitchen is now, I can get my own.” He scowls. “I know where everything is in this impossible house _but_ where they’re keeping that stupid firebender.”

Tooru hums, taking the empty glass back, cupping Hajime’s cheek for a moment. Hajime sighs and leans into it, eyes slipping closed. “One way or another, we’ll find him.”

Hajime lays his hands over Tooru’s, twines their fingers together. “One way or another.” He lowers their hands to the railing. “I should go work on that, then.”

“As should I.” Hajime tucks a smile away, just for him, and pushes up to kiss Tooru’s cheek before vaulting back into the darkness. Tooru sighs, clicking the stem of his glass against the railing for a breeze. At the first shiver, he rebuttons his collar and goes back inside, tapping the first servant he sees on the elbow.

“Excuse me. Can you direct me to Takeru?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: This particular AU's iwaoi is so intimately embarrassing I feel like I need to shield my eyes as I'm writing it, Jesus. And have you _seen_ what else I've written? God. Anyway. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}


	6. Tadashi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I never claimed this was anything other than a self-indulgent _drabble_ series. Right on the heels of Caravan chapter 6. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

“Not really good with kids, huh?”

Tooru puffs up as Hajime jumps down from the tree, ground giving under him to cushion his fall. He gives Daichi’s back one last glare before pouting at Hajime, still grinning, sweaty and hot from travelling all day. They’re both a right mess, a long day on the road that isn’t going to end in a bath and a bed. Hajime’s hair is barely in its braid anymore, the hairs of his eyebrows lying every direction, his beam lighting up his whole fucking face. Tooru wants to smooth out his eyebrows and kiss the stupid smirk off him, but instead he punches his arm and kicks his shin. “Stop _laughing_ at me, I _pay_ you!” Hajime snorts and punches him back, harder.

“You’re a baby who can’t deal with babies. Of course I’m laughing at you.”

Tooru pulls a face. “Like _you_ could do any better!”

Hajime just smiles at him, eyes slits, and cuffs him over the head, affectionate and gentle this time, more of a ruffle. “I imagine I’ve spent more time with kids in the past year than you have even when you _were_ a kid.” Tooru frowns – maybe true. A muscle twinges in his neck, and he groans, rubbing at it. Hajime rolls his eyes. “Oh, sit back down, you overripe mango.” Tooru gapes – plops back down on the rock. Hajime moves behind him, hands resting on his shoulders with the same heat at the last sunset rays. “I’m glad you let Daichi keep the kid,” he murmurs. Tooru hums, eyes slipping shut.

“Not really my choice, although don’t tell our boys that. That bossman can get scary when he’s mad.” Hajime chuckles, rolling his palms into the column of Tooru’s neck. He melts like wax, leftover tension trickling away with the birdsong and distant peoplesong. “Plus, he’s been through enough without me adding to the pile.” Hajime’s hands don’t falter, but his fingertips curl into Tooru’s tunic. They had talked through what Daichi and Tooru found in the bizarre Nakashima dungeon the night before, Hajime petting his hair in a dark corner of the inn’s garden, but Tooru doubted he would ever forget that miserable picture. Hajime twirls a strand of Tooru’s hair around his finger.

“It’s getting longer,” he mumbles. “Do you cut it out here?”

Tooru shrugs. “Mattsun’s not bad with a knife, but we all sort of stop paying attention to things like that out here.” A puff of wind on the top of his head. “ _Yes_ , even me, don’t give me that.” He tilts his head back to glare at Hajime upside-down. “I’m not _that_ vain.”

Hajime just hums to that and rolls his thumbs deep into Tooru’s temples. Tooru moans and closes his eyes, leaning back against Hajime’s leg. They fall silent, just each other’s presence and the forest, Hajime’s wide hands massaging Tooru’s lingering soreness away.

“We should get back, before they miss us,” Hajime growls even as his hands keep moving. Tooru fumbles a hand behind him – grabs his calf.

“N’a minute,” he begs, arching so Hajime’s knuckles slide down the dip of his spine. “A lil’ lower.” Hajime obeys, but instead of continuing his massage, he makes a fist and shoves Tooru off the rock and onto the leaf litter, hands and knees hitting the ground hard. Hajime’s laugh booms around him as Tooru stares at the leaves, eyes wide, jolted out of his almost-nap into cold shock. He recovers and pushes to a stand, scowling his best at Hajime, who is doubled over with laughter, tears at the creases of his eyes, hair stuck to his cheeks. “I’m lowering your salary!” he snaps, but that just makes Hajime laugh harder. Tooru stomps back towards camp before he can be infected with the giggle bug, biting his mouth closed even as the corners twist up.


	7. Akiteru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: lmao I lied about it taking forever  
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

Talking with the Amemaru headman wears out Tooru’s threadbare patience to just a few strings. It isn’t that he’s rude – he’s friendly. _Too_ friendly. And he doesn’t know how to shut up. Tooru is tired, dirty, and starving, the finger food put out for the meeting not enough after a week on the road, but the fluffy man just wants to talk about how _hard_ life is out here, how _grateful_ he is for their business, how _pleased_ he is to meet the youngest Oikawa, yadda yadda. Tooru want to slap glue over his mouth, but he smiles and nods when appropriate and tries not to scratch where the dirt ground into his clothes itches.

 _Finally_ , he releases them to real food and the Amemaru bathhouse with their vow to let the waterbenders do their thing tomorrow before they head onwards the day after. For the rest of the crew, that means a full day to relax and let the nice people pamper them. Tooru doesn’t plan on wasting a second of that.

His crew (minus the Sugawara three) has collected on the wide front veranda of the bathhouse by the time Tooru and Mr. Nobu get there, everyone damp, sweet-smelling, and happy, splayed over wicker furniture and delicate wooden railings. They crow out raucous greetings when their leaders are spotted. Tooru throws his arms out wide as he walks up and grins.

“My babies are clean!” Someone throws a bathhouse-provided stone cup at him. He dodges it with a pout. “I thought you were supposed to love me with all your little hearts!”

“Where’d you hear _that_ one?” Yahaba calls out as everyone else snickers. Tooru slaps both of his hands to his chest with a gasp.

“Yahaba! I _trusted_ you!” The snickers grow to cackles as Tooru puts on a show of huffing over to the empty spot by Hajime on a wicker loveseat and draping over him to whine. Hajime shoves his face away with a rough hand, still laughing, but doesn’t try to wriggle out of his hold. Tooru hides his face and his smile from the crew between Hajime’s back and the seat cushion. (He smells like orange blossom and lavender, his usual herb soap replaced with the fancy oils of the bathhouse. Tooru can’t call it an improvement.)

“You’re filthy, get off me,” Hajime growls. Tooru hums and burrows in farther behind his back as his body screams at him in fatigue. Mr. Nobu claps for attention so he can lay out the plan for their Amemaru visit, Seijoh snapping back to professional attention at the sound. Tooru stays hidden behind Hajime, a quick blink turning into a micronap. Hajime’s even breathing and Mr. Nobu’s muffled baritone, both as steady as the earth they bend, lull him into a doze in the dry heat. His outside arm winds around his human pillow of its own accord as he resettles his position on the loveseat, curling his legs behind him so his feet are tucked between the cushion and the wicker. Hajime only acknowledges his clinging with a pat on Tooru’s wrist.

It’s not long enough before Mr. Nobu finishes and everyone gets up to follow their orders – including Hajime. Tooru whines his best as Hajime extracts himself, flopping over into the warm spot he had been sitting on. Hajime flicks his nose. “Stop being such a baby.”

Tooru rubs his nose, frowning up at Hajime. “Where do you think _you’re_ going, anyway, Iwa-chan?”

He jerks his head at the crew filtering away to the last wagon carrying the crew’s gear and the guard’s ostrich-horses, waiting for them to go out to the village’s overflow campsite outside their walls. “With the crew.”

Tooru blinks, chest aching. “But… bed?”

Hajime’s eyes soften, and he crouches down to Tooru’s prone eye level. “You want our boys to like me, right?” Tooru wrinkles his nose. “Not taking special privileges is the first step for that.”

“But…” They hadn’t been able to get more than five minutes alone in a _week_. Tooru had been banking on tonight as catch-up. Hajime reads his mind and tangles his fingers in Tooru’s dangling hand for a breath with a tiny smile.

“We’ll have time. We’ve got a lot of it.” The inside ache stretches into something else, something soft and pastel, as Hajime’s hazel eyes hold his own. Their hands fall apart, and Hajime stands, giving his hair a last, aggressively affectionate ruffle before hurrying to join them. Tooru watches them go through the slats in the railing, hanging arm swinging, fingers brushing the marble of the porch as he lets the inside the thing fill in his gaps and take root.

“That boy’s too good for you.”

“Yeah.” Wait, what? Tooru yanks out of his blank stare and blinks at Mr. Nobu, who takes a seat across the low cup-filled table from Tooru’s loveseat. Mr. Nobu’s eyes crinkle as he sits back, propping an ankle on the opposite knee, clinking a water cup against his shoulder plate. Tooru swallows on a dry mouth. “I mean, what?”

Mr. Nobu smiles, laugh lines digging in. “I may not know where he came from, but I know why he’s here now, son.” He drains his water, then places it among the towers on the table. “You don’t have to fail to act like it’s not true.”

Tooru is too startled to move, even to sit up. “That’s not really my decision,” he answers the unsaid question. Mr. Nodu hums with an understanding nod. Tooru swallows. “I know we’re not supposed to – with Seijoh, and the Oikawas-”

Mr. Nobu holds up a hand. “It’s okay, Tooru. I don’t think anyone here is going to get the wrong idea.” He plants both feet on the ground so he can lean on his knees, fingers interlocked. “I just don’t want you to be scared to talk to me. I may not be your parent, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone, either.” His laugh lines deepened on one side. “This isn’t about being lonely at the top.”

Tooru smiles, then rubs his tingling face on the scratchy cushion before sitting up, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Mr. Nobu.”

“Anytime, son. Now let’s get ourselves cleaned up, they promised us a real dinner tonight.” Tooru perks up and hops to his feet, mood bright as they enter the bathhouse.


	8. Kei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Have I mentioned that avatar!au Hajime is best Hajime? [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

“You’ve been busy.”

Tooru looks behind him as the command table breaks for water. Hajime is waiting, eyes soft and hair sweaty. Tooru smiles. “So have you.” He turns in full to look Hajime up and down, the dirt and smoke stains on his ratty sleep clothes not doing anything to curb the hot flashes in his gut. “They seem to like us,” he said, gesturing at the makeshift groups of local officials, businessowners, and a blacksmith that had stepped up in the night as the real leaders of the town, along with Tooru, Mr. Nobu, and Akiteru. The convenient freelance firefighter had left them in the early morning to join the ground effort, so once again, Tooru finds himself as the only representative of his generation at the table, but they _listen_ to him. The high of that and Hajime looking at him like that makes his cheeks hurt from smiling. “Great day, huh?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow at him, dimple digging in. “You’re insane.” He spits out the hair that drifts into his mouth. “Seen the kid anywhere?”

Tooru hums, reaching out a hand to tuck the hair behind Hajime’s ear – yanks it back. He swallows. “Yamaguchi?” Hajime nods. Tooru looks away, eye contact breaking like water tension. “Not in a while, actually. Why, is his dad worried about him?”

Hajime grins. “You know he is.” He tucks the hair back himself, then grumbles and tears the tie off his braid, fingercombing it out to pull the flyaways back again. “He’s probably right this time,” he says, frowning. “Kid’s probably about to fall over, wherever he is.” He starts twisting his braid back, tilted.

“I feel like Daichi’s right more than his fair share.” Tooru jerks his chin at Hajime’s hands. “Want some help?”

Hajime pauses. “You’re _asking?_ ” He grins, lopsided, and Tooru is _gone_. “Permission ain’t really your style, love.”

“Maybe it is now.” He steps behind Hajime, face on fire, and bats his thick fingers away, pulling Hajime’s work apart to start over. Hajime’s shoulders shake with his chuckles. “Maybe I like to be unpredictable.”

“Or you’re getting soft.” He tilts his head forward to make Tooru’s job easier, baring his neck in the process and making it harder. Tooru pouts.

“I’m just trying to be _considerate_ ,” he snaps, braiding Hajime’s hair as fast as his fingers can (dramatic improvements since the start of this trip). “I know how you are about public stuff,” he says. Hajime is silent for the last few links of the braid, head bowed, that unreadable aura he sometimes sinks into. Tooru chews his cheek as he ties off the end. “There.”

“Thank you.” He takes a step away so he can turn and look Tooru in the eye. “You don’t need to ask, y’know.”

“I-” Tooru puffs out his cheeks and lets out the breath. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he mumbles. Hajime smiles.

“That’s cute.” The table’s sides are starting to fill up again after the water break. Hajime glances around at them – pauses. “Ah. There he is.” Tooru follows his gaze to a team of firefighters emerging from the trees, a yellow head the cake topper next to the familiar shade of Yamaguchi’s hair. Hajime hops on his toes to peck Tooru’s cheek, just a brush of unshaved skin, and walks off like it’s nothing. Tooru is left rooted and frozen, mouth open. The blacksmith next to him giggles, and he scowls at her. “Stop that.”

She laughs louder and slaps his arm hard enough to hurt. “Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout how me’n my baby must’ve looked at that age, don’ you fret.” She winks at him, and he puffs up, slapping his hands to the table and glaring at the map. She holds her fingers to her lips, then cups the hand around her mouth and calls them back to order.


	9. Issei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I've never played a single level of Kingdom Hearts. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

As far as their breaks have gone so far, this one is fairly simple and clean. Nothing is on fire, no one is a secret prisoner, and everyone in his crew is accounted for. He feels safe leaving them to their own devices in this one horse-deer town to meet up with some new contacts made at the party the night before and see if they have anything worthwhile to sell at the Pole. They’re glorified fur traders and spice peddlers, really, but those things are always prized in the barren tundra of the north, especially in the foreign colors and texture these tradesmen have. Tooru ends up trading half their stock for a few drinks and a box of knives from the Piang stock. The Ba Sing Se families that entrust his family with their goods understand that not everything they send makes it all the way to the Pole, but they always know it will be sold at a fair price to any interested buyer. Besides, furs transport softer than steel. He hums on his walk back to their inn in the afternoon, kicking a rock down the road and waving at everyone who smiles at him. He can hear his boys’ ruckus from a stone’s throw away and smiles wider as he ducks through the outside garden gate, throwing his arms out wide.

“Did you miss-” His eyes lock on the person sitting under Mattsun’s shearing knife and almost fall out. “ _Iwa-chan?_ ”

A short-haired Hajime grins as Makki punches his shoulder. “Told you he’d flip out.”

Hajime rolls his eyes as Issei ruffles his short, _short_ hair - still sticking up in all directions, at least. The deadheaded braid is discarded in the pile of everyone else’s hair on a towel at Mattsun’s feet like so much trash. Hajime just shrugs in the face of Tooru’s mental distress. “Needed a change. Plus, it was hot.”

Tooru puffs up, but before he can stick his foot in his mouth, Tanaka kicks Daichi off his seat on a rock next to him so he falls to his hands and knees with an _oomph_. “Dai, go stand by the other boss so I can see if y’all look like real twins now!”

Daichi gets to his feet, brushing his hands off on his tunic before saying, “No.”

Tanaka gasps. “When did you get that _mouth_ on you?”

Daichi grins, and Tooru doesn’t need to have Hajime for comparison to see the resemblance marked upon by his crew on more than one occasion. “A gift from my mama, or so I’m told.”

“Spirits bless your mama,” Issei offers as he finishes up the back of Hajime’s head and pats his shoulder to release him. Hajime stands, rubbing his hands over his new cut as little pieces drift out. Someone catcalls from across the garden; Hajime shows them the back of his hand with a laugh, sneaking glances at a shellshocked Tooru. Tooru focuses on breathing.

“Oikawa.” He jerks at his name. Mattsun pats his empty stump. “Wanna be the next victim?”

“I-” Hajime hops up on the top of the fence by Daichi’s spot, doing a much better job of acting like he hadn’t just cut a foot off his hair at the spur of the damn moment than Tooru could. Daichi crosses his arms and leans back on the fence, looking up at Hajime and spinning something around his wrist - one of Mattsun’s hair ties. Mattsun himself raises a thick eyebrow at him, and he gulps. “I gotta go.”

He stomps through the garden to the kitchen door, pretending he doesn’t hear Daichi comment, “ _I think you broke him_ ,” or Hajime answer, _“He’ll get over it,_ ” over the crowed remarks and chicken clucks from Makki and Mattsun.


	10. Yuuji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I started this thinking "hey, I haven't written them actually kissing in a while, I should do that," and ended with being full of hatred and rage at these two romantic potatoes. Save me.  
> [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/carriecmoney)}

Tooru has picked up a lot of new tricks and skills so far in this trip, but one thing no one needs to teach him is how to climb a tree. There aren’t that many this high up in the mountains, and the rocks would probably give him a better vantage than this stunted little spruce, but he likes the sharp scent and the stick of sap against his skin, the night breeze that rattles the cones against the needles. He closes his eyes and turns his face into it, feet swinging where they straddle the thickest branch near the top, only about seven feet up. It’s a moonless night, only the stars for guidance – perfect for letting go of daytime thoughts and just breathing. Sap and sage and lemongrass. He smiles. “Lovely evening.”

The tree shakes just a little with each hop until Hajime stops on a bough below and to Tooru’s right. “Don’t you ever get tired of using that line on me?” Hajime asks, his usual gruff sanded away. Tooru grins, eyes still closed.

“Never. It feeds me.” A calloused hand catches his swinging ankle. Tooru blinks his eyes open and looks down at Hajime, washed black and white in the starlight, eyes wide and face blank. “Get up here,” Tooru blurts out, hooking his foot around Hajime’s forearm and tugging. Hajime raises an eyebrow.

“That twig can barely keep you up there, let alone me as well. Come down here instead.” His flush is almost invisible in the weak light, so Tooru bends down to feel it on the shell of his ear. Hajime’s eyes flutter as he leans into the touch. “Come here,” he asks again, voice rough, pulling on his leg. Tooru bites his smile back and complies, swinging down and settling perpendicular to Hajime, sitting on his branch while his feet and shoulders prop against two others. Hajime picks up the nearest dangling hand, inspecting the fingers, cleaning out the dirt. Closes his eyes and presses a kiss to the palm. Tooru’s fingers curl to brush over Hajime’s cheek.

“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite?” he breathes, watching, waiting for Hajime to crack an eye open. He does, smile hiding in them. Tooru runs the tip of a finger down the bridge of his nose before pulling his hand away to take Hajime by the waist and tug. “C’mon, get over here, I wanna ravish you.”

Hajime’s mouth quirks even as he scoots forward, bark scraping. “You’re so damn demanding.” He cups Tooru’s face and kisses him soft enough to render him speechless and reeling, clinging to Hajime’s shirt for his life. Hajime pulls away before he can pick an adjective, dry lips catching. “As if you have the willpower to ravish me,” he breathes into his open mouth.

Tooru blinks, then grins, heartbeat still pounding in his ears. “Is that a challenge? It sounds like a challenge.” He swings down the six feet to the ground, waiting for the moment Hajime _thumps_ beside him to snatch his waist again and slam him against the tree trunk, pinning him there with his whole body and crushing their mouths together. Hajime opens up to him as Tooru licks in, hands sliding all up and down Hajime’s sides. Hajime squirms, fingers looping through Tooru’s hair, a leg coming around Tooru’s for leverage to arch and grind up – Tooru’s hands slide down to Hajime’s lower back, pulling his sleep undershirt up-

Hajime breaks away, panting. “No.”

Tooru pouts, ducking in to taste Hajime’s neck. “Aw, but _honey_ , this _could_ be the last private time we get for _forever_.” He nips at Hajime’s collarbone, making him hiss. “I’d really like to learn how to ravish you,” he whispers, temple brushing on cheek.

Hajime swallows, hips still jerking against Tooru’s, uncoordinated and clumsy. Unlike him. Tooru’s hands wander up the back of his shirt – down the back of his pants. He yelps, an undignified squawk, and Tooru bares his teeth against his shoulder. “I don’t want sand to get– everywhere,” he says, “And this tree is really scratchy.”

Tooru hums, sliding a shirt strap off Hajime’s shoulder to expose the full line of his collarbone. “Sounds like an excuse to me,” he mumbles into Hajime’s skin.

Hajime digs fingers into Tooru’s scalp. “Wait.”

Tooru pauses, drawing back at his fallen tone. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that.” Tooru huffs, but doesn’t press the old argument. Hajime turns his face away so he doesn’t have to look at Tooru, cheeks puffed out. “I- I don’t… Look, I don’t want the only thing I remember about – this, thing, to be tree bark.” He yanks Tooru’s head down to smush his face into his neck, rosemary overpowering spruce. He growls, “I only want it to be you.”

Tooru just breathes, squeezing his eyes shut as his heart stops, then kickstarts like a blow to the chest. “You’re such a _sap_ ,” he sighs, Hajime rests his forehead on his shoulder and doesn’t fight it. “What am I gonna do with you?” Hajime chuckles, and Tooru wrinkles his nose. “At least let me _try_ to ravish you before your hyper-romantic ass makes me feel bad for wanting to.” Hajime laughs harder, loosening his koala-sloth hold so Tooru can watch it, eyes slits, dimple deep, shoulders shaking. He wipes a leaking tear away with a thumb – dips in to lick the salt trail. Hajime’s laughter hiccups when he blows a raspberry into his cheek, his jaw, his neck, before he latches on there, sucking – the laughter trails off into humming. “Toh…”

“Shove it.” His hands slide down under Hajime’s thighs to hike him up to his toes, keeping him there with a propped leg and the tree so he doesn’t have to bend to bite Hajime’s collarbone. “Let me have this. Please?”

Hajime huffs and tilts his head back. “You don’t have to ask.”

 

 


	11. Hana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Eh. I wrote myself into a corner on this one. Sorry folks. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Tooru’s world swims in a haze of red pain and weak light, senses coming up one by one as he struggles back to consciousness. He’s hurting, that’s for sure, mostly in the area of his right leg. He’s sitting up, arms behind his back, his backrest hard and uncomfortable. He groans, fighting the traces of whatever had knocked him out so fast before. Something raps his bad knee – he cries out before swallowing it, blinking his eyes open to see who would _not_ get to see him weak. A dirty scrap of a human bent over him, teeth missing from his grin. “Well looky there. Those xirxu darts sure were worth every penny we didn’t spend on them.”

Tooru frowns, the last black clouds lingering in his head. “What’d you wan’,” he slurs, words catching on a dry throat.

“Not much, just all your money.” He grins. “And anything else your people are willing to part with for your safe return.” He hums, paying with the metal balls stuck through his tongue with his teeth. “Well, ‘safe’ is relative.”

Tooru swallows and rasps, “Go to hell.”

His captor barks a laugh and rocks back on his heels. “Oh! So the pretty thing has a bite!” Tooru growls as he stands, jaunt to his stance that pisses Tooru off more than any word said. “Let’s see if you can keep good on your promise when your friend wakes up,” he says. “Or. If.” He saunters away, thin braid swinging – his _friend_. He’s tied to a person.

He tries to squirm enough to see who it is, but even the slightest movement causes his knee to tinge. He grinds his teeth – no more crying – and feels the friend out. Coarse, short hair against the back of his neck, broad shoulders a little lower than his, lemongrass – _Iwa-chan_ -

His fingers catch on something around their wrist, something cloth. A hair tie. Not Hajime. He slumps, the unconscious body following his lead and groaning like a leaking geyser. He knows that voice. “Sawamura?” he whispered, eyes fixed on the bickering shapes across the cave. “Dai, I swear, you better not die on me, or Koushi’s gonna kill me.” No response. He scoffs. “Typical.” He wiggles so Daichi isn’t threatening to throw off his balance, powering through his pain. “At least they locked me up with the only person around with any sense,” he breathes, chin hitting his chest. He stills, listening to the body behind him breathe, a wet noise that didn’t sound healthy. “Please don’t die,” he mouths. Daichi stirs, groaning again, but with more purpose. “Dai? Daichi, are you okay?”

Daichi’s head falls back on his shoulder, ear to ear, another groan rattling through him. “Toh?” No one really calls him that, but Tooru sighs anyway, relief washing through him as intense as his pain.

“You’re alive. I mean, I knew you were alive, you were still breathing, but-”

“Toh,” Daichi cuts him off as the shapes across the cave turn and glare at them, skinny braid heading over. “Shu’up.”


	12. Nobuteru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: *rips off shirt to reveal an I <3 RYUU shirt underneath* [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It’s late – without a clock or a moon shining through the spruce trees, it’s impossible for Tooru to tell how. His camp is asleep except for the perimeter guards out of sight, the embers of the fires, and him. Even the little shit of a fox-squirrel is curled up on Ken’s chest, red fluff rising and falling on the other side of Happy’s forelegs. She’s asleep at last as well – it’s been a long day – and even though Tooru is exhausted, he can’t seem to drift off. Maybe it’s the lingering energy rush, or the open sky when he’s used to his cramped tent, or his moving, furred mattress behind him. Maybe it’s Hajime, draped over his chest, hands buried between Tooru’s back and Happy’s belly, breath whistling into the crook of Tooru’s neck. He hadn’t fallen asleep like that – even worried and clingy, he has his limits – but he slipped and wriggled in his dreams until he was almost Tooru’s blanket. Tooru wouldn’t mind that part at all, but his knees are sharp, and between him and Happy, he’s overheating despite the ice around his leg and the cool night air. He doesn’t want to move and wake either of them up, but his muscles are cramping from more than just the knee. He shifts a little as a test – Happy grumbles under him while Hajime holds him closer, breath down his sternum. Tooru sighs and flops back, staring up at the handful of stars visible through the needles. Love can be so oppressive sometimes.

Sleep keeps eluding him as the stars spin, two hair textures between his fingers that purr under him. He had expected Hajime to shove him away during the day, after the initial relief and recovery was over and business was almost back to usual, but he had stayed close, letting Tooru keep a hand in his hair for hours, even when they got sly grins and raised eyebrows from the crew. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about it yet, but some combination of the ambush and Daichi’s speech on the way back broke something down in Hajime’s head. Tooru can’t say he minds. Hajime responds to head scratches like a neglected hedgehog-dog.

Brush crashes and gravel crunches from outside the circle of firelight. Tooru’s hands still, but it’s just the returning scouts coming to wake up their replacements. Two pairs of the footsteps converge behind Happy, barely audible until one of them croons in a low voice, “Aw, ain’t that the sweetest thing.”

“Knock it off, Ryuu. Let them have it.”

Tanaka chuckles at Watari’s hushed order. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna wake ‘em up or nothin’. Just happy they finally got comfortable ‘round us.”

Watari sighs. “Guess you’re right. Too bad it took a kidnapping.” Tooru smothered a giggle. “How long will it take until they’re gross and cute instead of just cute?”

“Oh, honey, they crossed that line for me _ages_ ago.” The feet crunch around Happy’s bulk to the fire side (Tooru keeps his eyes clenched shut). “See, look’t that. Fucking disgusting.” Tooru can feel Tanaka’s sneer and tries to keep his face lax against the flush. Tanaka sighs. “Normally, I’d have no problem waking Hajime up from his little lovefest to go stand watch. But…”

Watari must nod or something to signal agreement. “I’ll go kick Yahaba, then. You can take Ken.” Something cracks – Tanaka’s knuckles. “Don’t be rude.”

“No ruder than I have to be.” Tooru bites his cheek against a smile as the footsteps split, one receding and one approaching. Before the expected sounds of a kick and a grunt, though, Tanaka crouches by Tooru’s feet. “I know you’re awake, shithead.” Tooru cracks an eye and looks down his body to Tanaka, drawing nonsense patterns in the dirt with two fingers. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Dai when I couldn’t,” he told the dirt. Tooru smiles behind Hajime’s hair. Tanaka clears his throat and stands, sharp eyes focused again. “I owe you.”

“I’ll remember that,” Tooru says, barely, more chest than voice. Tanaka nods once and steps around Happy’s front hooves – at a distance, even though she’s asleep – to shake Ken’s shoulder. They bicker in low voices for a bit until they both get up and leave, Ken to his post, Tanaka to his tent. When the camp is settled again, Tooru sighs and adjusts Hajime, pulling and pushing him so Tooru can turn on his side and face him, needles tingling up the arm that had been trapped under Hajime’s shoulders. Hajime stays asleep through this – for an ex-Dai Li agent, Hajime has always slept like a rock – mouth open, furrows dug in his forehead. Tooru smooths them out with a thumb, kisses between his eyebrows. Hajime sighs in his sleep, clutching Tooru’s shirt and burying his face into his shoulder. Tooru smiles and closes his eyes.


	13. Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Just assume that any footage of me writing this fic is me setting myself on fire until it's done. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

If you asked anyone with a brain, Tooru is getting far too familiar with Daichi’s lap. Right now, though, Tooru doesn’t have a brain, he has three drinks and some weird pain medication Shigeru has been pumping him with for a while now, so he floats around to plop down in his favorite spot. He misses, but it’s not so bad when he lands in the crack between Daichi and Hajime. “My long-lost twins are having fun together without _me!_ ” he drawls in his best petulant tone.

They both sag under him. “Just because our hair was the same for a week doesn’t mean we’re secretly related,” the twin on the left sighs, untangling Tooru from him so he can latch on the other. “And you’re drunk.”

Tooru pouts and clings onto the twin who isn’t being mean to him. “And you, _sir,_ are being rude and disrespectful.” He burrows in deeper to the other twin’s scent – Hajime. It’s been too long since their last real bath now, so he doesn’t smell like Koushi’s farm soap anymore, but just sweat and dirt and sun. He breathes it in. “Dance with me,” he asks it. “Come _on_.”

“You’re so needy,” Hajime says, a broad hand running over his hair. “You can barely stand, love.”

“But I’m _tired_ of barely standing,” he says, good foot bouncing to the beat. “I wanna _dance_.” Daichi’s heat shifts behind him. “If you don’t, I’ll find someone who _will_.”

Hajime sighs under him, taking Tooru down. “Will you shut up if I do?” he asks, which is agreement in Hajime-speak. Tooru brightens and lets Hajime haul him to his feet, knee just a dull ache when he puts his foot down. Hajime catches him anyway, like he has since the injury, since he got his uniform, since they met back on Tooru’s rooftop. Tooru curls around him, humming an old favorite song and rocking on his feet. “You’re not in time,” Hajime mumbles, voice rolling through Tooru like thunder. He just smiles and hums louder.

Hajime ducks his head to tuck it into Tooru’s shoulder, one hand releasing Tooru’s waist to manhandle Tooru into holding his hand, weaving their fingers together, sandwiched between their other shoulders. His palm is rough and sweaty, but those callouses are just as dear to Tooru as the dimple in his cheek and his uneven teeth. He tilts his head to press his cheek to Hajime’s temple, not quite getting his mouth there. “You’re such a sap,” he whispers.

“So’re you,” Hajime grumbles, squeezing his hand. “And this is a shitty dance lesson.”

Tooru chuckles. “Sadly, you may have to wait a while for that. Hard to teach when you can’t demonstrate.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” His forehead is a long strip of contact on Tooru’s neck behind his ear, hair tickling his cheek. “We’ve got time.”

“Aww.” Tooru spreads his fingers in Hajime’s hair. “Do you wanna be with me forever, Iwa-chan?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I mean, if that’s what it takes.”

Tooru smiles, eyes closed against anything besides Hajime in his arms and the floating erhu notes. “You’ll be the oldest dancing master ever by the time I’m through with you,” he promises. Hajime’s fingers tighten.

They sway in place for minutes, hours. Tooru would like to spin him around for real, the practiced flirting of the dance floor he grew up learning to own. But this one is Hajime’s, barely moving, but tender and soft, friends around and only the moon for light. These moments are his dessert.

A green log pops on the bonfire. Hajime starts, jerking away from his definitely-a-snuggle. Tooru blinks as the environment swirls around him, tan stalks condensing into people, sitting around and watching. Ah. Hajime’s face burns sunset red, and that’s the end of him drawing attention for the week. Tooru lets him withdraw to his shadows, still floating a little as he’s guided along to hide behind a tree, hidden from sight long before Hajime presses him up against it and kisses him breathless, hands roaming, tugging.

He breaks away to mouth at Tooru’s neck, one hand hitching Tooru’s bad leg up around his waist. Tooru gasps, head knocking back. “Dancing and kissing, all in a night,” he breathes. “And it’s not even my birthday.” Hajime nips at him, and he yelps. “Iwa-chan!”

“Just shut the fuck up and let me love you.” Tooru hiccups – laughs, hand to his mouth to keep it quiet, body shaking and rubbing all against Hajime’s, laughter spilling out of him like tears. Oops. Maybe he’s a little drunk. He always gets a bit soppy when he’s drunk. Hajime laughs with him after a moment, but cuts him off with a kiss before Tooru is near done, exchanging giggles with the spit. Hajime holds his face and keeps his jaw open so he can lick in. Tooru hums and lets him, still smiling with his open mouth, one hand down the back of Hajime’s shirt and the other one up it. Hajime caves to him, fingers digging into his scalp, moving in closer so his knees bump the tree framing Tooru’s good leg. Tooru moans and tilts his hips so they slot together-

Tooru is the one who wrenches away this time, forceful enough that their teeth catch on lips. “Wait.”

Hajime tugs on his ear with his teeth. “I thought you liked the idea of me desecrating you in the wilds like an animal.”

Tooru shivers, full body. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “But darling, whatever will the neighbors think?”

“That we’ve been having sex in the woods for ages,” he answered, breathless and blunt. His hands slide down Tooru’s body to hook under both of his legs, forcing him to take the good one off the ground and lock them around Hajime’s waist, only held up by his arms and the press of his body against (and slightly below) him. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind making the rumors true.” He’s still mouthing at Tooru’s ear, abusing it, hands working at flesh as Tooru clings and tries to think, think, think. There’s a _reason-_

“Didn’t want to do this all proper-like? In a bed and all?”

Hajime lets go of Tooru’s ear, mouthing along his cheek until their noses bump, their foreheads. “Is that what _you_ want?” he asks, dark eyes heavy in the moonlight. Tooru gulps.

“I- I mean, I can be _persuaded-_ ”

“Stop that.” He’s still now, not frozen, but tense, waiting. “We go at each other’s paces, or not at all. You want to stop, just say so.” Tooru licks his lips – Hajime is so close, the tip of his tongue catches Hajime’s. They both suck in a breath. “ _Fuck_ , don’t tell me to stop,” he breathes, almost to himself. They’re both hard, they’re both willing, they’re both ready – but, Hajime was right before. He doesn’t want the only thing he remembers about this to be tree bark. And this tree is a pine, so it’s sticky.

“Save the desecration for the way back.” His hands meet under Hajime’s shirt. He clasps them and clutches Hajime closer. “Right now, just take me apart.” Hajime moans and crashes into him.


	14. Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: *subtly sliiiiiiiides that rating bar right up* Be gentle, it's been a few years since I cared little enough to write actual smut... [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

When Tooru bangs into his room with as much fuss as he can manage, Hajime is already waiting on him, staring at the bed in the middle of the room with crossed arms and a curled lip. “Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asks, dropping the mail bag at the rickety desk.

“I wouldn’t let an opossum-cat have kittens on that thing.” His lip wrinkles more. “And they want us to _sleep_ in that?”

“Never fear!” Tooru digs around in the one bag he had brought up for the night. “I came prepared for any eventuality!” He extracts the folded set of sheets he had stashed away for this exact inn, brandishing them like a writ from the king. “Ta-da!”

Hajime blinks, then grins, taking them from Tooru’s hands and bouncing up to kiss his cheek. “I love you,” he whispers. Tooru grabs his face and kisses him on the mouth, hard and yearning. Hajime sighs under him, sheets falling to the ground so he can hold him back, already melted butter.

Tooru yanks away, brushing noses. “Ready to desecrate this room with me?” he asks.

“As if it can get any worse.” But he doesn’t say no, just tugs Tooru along until he falls backward on the bed, Tooru braced over him. His hands roam up and down Tooru’s back, hair to thigh, as Tooru settles, straightening his bad leg in stages until he’s all the way down, hard bumps and lines rutting together. Hajime tastes like the food downstairs, noodles and fish, still warm from the cider, and Tooru can’t get enough. They both start pulling at clothes, which is when they have to detach, breathing each other’s air.

“You have too many fucking clothes on,” Hajime growls as he yanks open the knot of Tooru’s belt, tossing it aside so he can pull at the clasps of the shirts underneath. Tooru chuckles and sits back so he can undo them more efficiently, shrugging them both off at once so it’s just his undershirt. Hajime is watching, eyes hungry, hands spread over his thighs, so he keeps going, tugging it over his head by the collar so he’s topless and bare, exposed in the weak starlight through the cracked ricepaper. Hajime’s shaky hands slide up to touch, and he shivers.

“Now it’s your-” But Hajime grabs his waist and flips them over, a yelp shocked out of Tooru before he can swallow it. Hajime kneels between his legs, reaching back to grab an ankle and slide Tooru’s riding boot off, not breaking eye contact the whole while. He gets as far as the other boot, mouth pressed to Tooru’s calf, before Tooru’s kicked-apart thoughts came back together. “You. Clothes. Off. Now,” he growls. Hajime stares at Tooru over his knee, then grins against Tooru’s skin. Tooru kicks his shoulder, and he laughs, letting go of the leg to pull off his own shirt and crash back down, bare against bare, electric under Tooru’s fingers, eating each other – he doesn’t taste like food anymore –

Tooru rolls them over, back to side to back, and slides down so he can attack Hajime’s neck, collarbone, down, trying to find where he tastes best but in sound, remapping territory he hasn’t been able to linger on in ages. He missed this landscape.

As his mouth explores farther down, so did his hands, toying with the waist of Hajime’s pants, the laces. Hajime gasps, squirming under him. “Toh…”

Tooru shushes him. “You spend too much time taking care of me,” he mutters into Hajime’s sternum, tugging one lace open, then the other. “Now it’s my turn.” He traces fingernails down the dip of Hajime’s hipbone – he shudders, a little squeak leaking out. Tooru grins and slinks up, mouthing at Hajime’s ear as he plays with Hajime’s pants, rutting hips shifting them down as much as Tooru’s hands. “The walls are pretty thin here,” he whispers into Hajime’s ear. “How much do you want them all to know?”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Hajime hisses even as he bares the side of his neck more. “Dunno why I love you.” Tooru traces the ridges of his cartilage with his tongue.

“Because I do the things good girls won’t.” He slides his hand down what’s left of Hajime’s pants. Hajime chokes on his breath as his fingers feel around, burying in curls and smearing. “You sound so nice when you’re speechless.”

It takes Hajime a while to come up with a retort – long enough for Tooru to switch ears to mangle – but when there’s a break as Tooru uses both hands to work his pants halfway down his thighs, he sucks in a breath and says, “Wish I had the chance to say the same.”

Tooru sits back, ignoring the twinge in his knee as he looks Hajime up and down, thoroughly debauched from red face to red crotch. “You’ll get a chance, sweetheart.” He scowls, and Tooru grins. “For now, it’s my turn.”

Hajime grunts and tugs at Tooru’s own laces. “Well, get on with it.”

Tooru slaps his hands away. “Patience, young cavehopper. Haven’t you heard of foreplay?”

“We’ve been foreplaying for _months-_ ” He breaks off into a weak gasp as Tooru grabs his dick again to shut him up.

It’s been a while since they’ve done anything besides make out behind the scenery, and even longer since Tooru has gone beyond a rushed handjob with anyone, but it’s like riding an ostrich-horse – your body never forgets the motions. He pushes down from sitting on Hajime’s knees to his shins, manhandling Hajime’s legs out from under him so he can take the pants all the way off them and wrap them around his own waist, locking Hajime’s ankles behind him as Hajime bites his lip and lets him. He tears his own laces open – off, only hanging by the last few holes – but doesn’t make any more efforts for his own comfort as he bends down and licks.

Hajime stuffs a hand in his mouth, all four fingers. Tooru keeps licking and watching Hajime’s face as it reacts, contorting when Tooru holds him steady, teeth digging into his knuckles when he sucks the head. It’s not the prettiest he’s ever been, but it is the most attractive. His other hand snaps down to grab hanks of Tooru’s hair, tugging without real intent. Tooru grins around him, pressing his tongue up along a vein. Hajime is leaking.

Tooru pops off and crawls up Hajime’s body, tugging the fingers out of his mouth to replace them with his tongue. Hajime doesn’t have time to shove the taste of himself away before Tooru continues up to lick the salt trails leading out of the corners of Hajime’s eyes. He pants against Tooru’s neck, hands weak at his sides. “You’re an evil son of a bitch,” he gasps. Tooru smacks a kiss on his cheek. “Fuck, stop fucking around and _fuck_ me,” he moans.

Tooru’s heart skips a beat. “If that’s what you want.”

“Of course I don’t, that’s why I asked for it.” His legs tighten around Tooru’s waist. Tooru chuckles, nuzzling into his temple. “Pretty sure the boys have been sneaking sex stuff in my bag since Amemaru,” he mumbles. “We can use some of that.”

“An unused gift is a true waste. I’d say we were obligated to.” Hajime winds his fingers in Tooru’s hair to kiss him, slow and deep. “You go’a lemme go ‘o ge’i’, hon?” he asks through the muffle of Hajime’s mouth. Hajime groans and keeps kissing him until Tooru laughs and pulls away. “ _Honey_.”

“ _Fine._ ” He unlatches from around Tooru. “But hurry. It’s fucking cold in here.”

“Delicate creature, afraid of a little chill?” Hajime kicks him off. Tooru rolls to the side and off the bed, beaming through his nerves. “Do you need a blankie?”

“I need that fucking sheet.” He sits up and snatches the forgotten sheets. “They must’ve made this out of a porcupine-bear’s butt.” He throws the sheet over the itchy duvet, smoothing it out as Tooru sneaks up behind him. He grabs Hajime by the waist and tucks his chin over Hajime’s shoulder.

“Or maybe they made it out of your shitty beard,” he croons, rubbing their scratchy cheeks together. Hajime growls, but instead of the physical abuse Tooru expects, he reaches back and turns Tooru’s face for a kiss. Tooru squeezes Hajime’s waist and kisses back until Hajime lets go, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth as he withdraws. “Oh.”

“You’re a piece of shit.” He traces his fingers down Tooru’s cheek. “Now hop to it.”

Tooru slaps Hajime’s thigh. “Better get that ‘sex stuff’, hotshot. We ain’t got all night.” Hajime huffs, but twists out of Tooru’s loose hold to dive into his bag. Tooru hops out of his pants while he’s busy, toppling sideways onto the bed when he makes the mistake of balancing on his bad leg. He groans, and Hajime laughs at him. Tooru wriggles around to get his legs on the bed and sit up on his elbows, scowling down at Hajime. “Excuse _you_ , I pay your salary.”

Hajime grins, teeth shining in the weak light, and spins a clay tub on his palm. “And you never let me forget it.” He crosses the room to press the tub into Tooru’s hand. “You know how to use this, right?”

Tooru winks. “Been a few years, sweetie.” Hajime straddles his lap, holding Tooru’s chin in thumb and forefinger to graze mouth on mouth, magnet of it drawing Tooru to sit up and follow. Tooru fumbles the lid off the jar blind behind Hajime’s back as he lets himself be kissed like Hajime wants. When the lid comes off, a vaguely sweet scent wafts up. Tooru breaks the kiss to look down Hajime’s back at it, pulling him close in the process. Even in the greyscale light, he can tell that whatever it’s made of is a bright orange. “Who _gave_ you this?”

Hajime shrugs. “Honestly, who knows. I think half of them have invaded my privacy for this.” He reaches back to fumble the hand with the jar in between them, locking his feet under Tooru’s thighs. “Oh. This one’s probably Takahiro’s.” He wrinkles his nose. “ _Yams_.”

“Wonder if it tastes good?” Hajime pulls a face that makes Tooru snicker. He dips a finger in to swipe a dollop on Hajime’s nose and lick it off before Hajime can blink. He hums and swallows. “Not bad.”

“You’re sick. In the head.” Tooru swirls a finger in the yam lubricant, waggling his eyebrows. Hajime growls and knocks his forehead hard into Tooru’s shoulder. “Oh, just get the fuck on with it.”

“Now that’s no way to go about it.” He takes his two orange-coated fingers out from between the steamy press of their bodies, using the two clean ones as a guide down Hajime’s side. “You gotta go _delicate_.”

“You’re about as delicate as an avalanche-” He hisses. “Asshole.”

“Pots and kettles, Iwa-chan.” He circles around, around, around. In. “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispers into Hajime’s neck as he mouths over it.

“Nah, just – tight.” He exhales down Tooru’s back and spreads his knees. “Go ahead.” Tooru nods and works it, feeling around – “I’m not a fucking puppet,” Hajime grumbles.

“Really?” He’s almost found it... “Because I can make you sing.”

“Yeah, righ-” There it is. Hajime whines, shoving his face hard in the junction of Tooru’s neck and shoulder. Tooru grins and curls in again, working the second in while he’s still whining, a high hum.

“You like that?” he breathes into Hajime’s ear. He just nods, and a thrill drips down Tooru’s spine. It’s slick and humid between them, wet and hard. They’ve got a rhythm going now, pants and curls and rolls all in sync, chests rising together. Hajime’s hands can’t stay still, keeping Tooru warm and shivering until one darts down to wind around both of them. This time it’s Tooru’s turn to whine and rut. He gasps, “Ready, babe?”

“Been.” Hajime fumbles for the set-aside jar – his hands are shaking. Tooru catches one with his free hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss the hardened knuckles.

“Calm down, honey. It’s just me.” Dark holds dark for a hot moment before Hajime sighs, whole body easing. A steady hand dips into the jar to coat Tooru in its contents, slick and sweet. Tooru flicks his tongue out to swirl around a finger. Hajime snatches his hand back to brace it on Tooru’s shoulder, lifting up on his knees. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He slides his fingers out with an odd squelch that they’ll laugh about later, gripping Hajime just below his ass. He lets Hajime lead, watching his face close enough to see pores, watching a drop of sweat follow grooves down his cheek to his jaw until it’s licked off.

The entrance is excruciating on both ends, teeth grit and eyes clenched. Hajime bites down on Tooru’s shoulder hard enough to hurt, but the spike kicks Tooru’s nerves higher. He digs his fingers into flesh, leaning back enough that his abs scream so Hajime can sit all the way down. They blink their eyes open as Hajime unlocks his jaw and they just stare at each other, hot sweat dripping into cold, Hajime’s wide shoulders and scruffy chest heaving. Tooru falls back onto his elbows, lifting his knees so Hajime has support behind. “You’re incredible,” he breathes.

Hajime wrinkles his nose. “Don’t say that yet, I ain’t gonna last much longer.”

Tooru sticks his tongue out. “What, you think I will?” Hajime shifts, and they both hiss, Tooru’s head falling back. Hands spread across Tooru’s chest as Hajime lifts his hips and rolls back down. Tooru’s mouth drops open as he throws an arm over his eyes.

One of the hands goes away and comes back on his face, two fingers pressing on his tongue. “You’re too loud,” Hajime pants, finding an unsteady rhythm after a few stutters. Tooru closes his mouth around the fingers, helpless to do more than clutch Hajime’s knee and thrust up on Hajime’s down. Thighs cinch against his sides as the other hand grabs Tooru’s eyeshield wrist and throws it away. “Don’t hide.” Tooru blinks his eyes open to Hajime’ heavy gaze. “Look at me.” He directs Tooru to touch him, too far gone to be embarrassed about asking for Tooru to drag fingers down his stomach. He lets go as Tooru’s hand closes and pumps, only cycling a few times before his mouth falls open on a soundless cry and he spills across Tooru’s chest. The clench and the look on his face causes Tooru to gasp and follow, holding Hajime down by the hips as his thoughts break up like fog in the sun.

He comes back down to breath on his neck and familiar curves dropped on top of him. He hums and winds the arm not caught between them around Hajime, nuzzling into his coarse hair. “’ove you,” he croons.

“Gross.” Tooru squeaks. “No, like, this is gross as fuck, let me go.” He sits up and grimaces down at the mess smeared on their chests. “Disgusting.”

Tooru snorts. “But _honey_ , it’s _love._ ”

“It’s a fucking mess, that’s what it is.” He lifts up, shuddering as Tooru slips out. “Next time, do not do that.” He crawls off the bed, walking a little funny to the washbasin in the corner, wetting a cloth and scrubbing everything from ribs to knees before wetting another and coming back to bed.

He wipes down Tooru’s still prone form with that infuriating blank face that tells Tooru _nothing._ Tooru tries not to frown and forces a smile instead. “So sweet of my Iwa-chan!”

Hajime looks up. “You’re filthy, love. It’s the only way I could lay back down here again.” He hangs the cloth over the headboard and fishes the yam-lube jar out from where it’s staining the sheet, screwing the lid back on and tossing it in the direction of his bag before flopping on top of Tooru, wrapping the ends of the sheet around them. “Happy now?”

Tooru swallows. “Are you?” He works his arms around Hajime’s waist to lace weak fingers at the small of his back. “You don’t… regret-”

Hajime slaps fingers to Tooru’s mouth. “Stop. I don’t regret a single damn thing.” He kisses both of Tooru’s cheeks, his forehead, before he lets his hand fall to kiss his mouth, lingering there. “Don’t overanalyze,” he mumbles against Tooru’s mouth. “Just go to sleep.” Tooru smiles, a flutter in his chest, and rolls them again to hide a giggle in Hajime’s hair.


	15. Igaluk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I'm so ready for this arc T___T [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It’s late when Tooru looks up from his current dance partner and doesn’t find Hajime where he should be. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since dinner, really, with the white midnight and the wine buzzing in his head, but what he _does_ know is that Hajime has left him at a party without telling him. Stood him _up._ That’s not how Hajime works.

He can’t lose himself in the dance anymore, so he excuses himself from his partner and goes to the last place Hajime was only to find cold tea and stale breadcrumbs. He pouts and crosses his arms. The _nerve_. A cold wind gusts over the back of his neck – it still isn’t used to being exposed again. He rubs a frozen hand over it – digs in this pockets for his gloves. He walks away as he shoves them back on, heading towards the exit and home without making a conscious decision. The dance goes on without him, but all he wants now that he’s stopped is to curl into bed with Hajime and talk until the sun sets in a week.

He’s almost, _almost_ free when someone taps him on the shoulder. He braces himself and smiles – oh, it’s just KV, the Kindaichi patriarch. “Hi, Mr. KV.”

KV smiles. “Heading home?” Tooru nods. “Then I’ll walk with you.” Tooru waves for him to go first down the stairs, wincing behind his back every time his knee bends too much on a step down. He had never noticed how many _stairs_ there are in the North Pole until today. KV pretends not to notice his lag, dallying at the bottom until he catches up, then continuing on at the same pace, hands in his pockets. “How’s Yuu holding up?” he asks, staring ahead at their path home. Tooru flaps a hand.

“He had his growing pains, but I think he’s figured out he only has himself to live up to, not a family name.” He pats KV’s arm. “He’s doing fine, sir.”

KV sighs. “Good.” He quirks a winged eyebrow at Tooru. “Since when do you call me ‘sir’ when my wife isn’t around?”

Tooru blinks. “I have no idea.” KV laughs, full-bellied and throaty, and Tooru laughs with him. “Do you mind?” he asks when KV can respond again.

“Mind? I’m just wondering what got into you to make you actually polite when you don’t want something!” He slaps Tooru’s shoulder. “I gotta admit, I was a little worried ‘bout you, comin’ up here all alone,” he says, “but I’m glad to know you’re holdin’ your own.” Tooru smiles and opens his mouth to say he hasn’t been alone, not in a while, but KV jangles his keys out of his pocket into a new conversation, slipping back into steward mode. “We aired out your old room for you and marked it against the free-for-all with the boys,” he says, holding the door open for him. “But let us know if you need anything else.” He winks. “Sir.”

Tooru yawns as he passes inside, waving his understanding. They part ways in the foyer, KV to his family’s ground floor suite, Tooru up the damned stairs, keeping a hand on the wall as he takes his time going up.

He half expects Hajime to be waiting when he pulls aside the woven rug of the tapestry door, but he’s not. He almost expects him to swing through the window as he washes his face, but he doesn’t. He _definitely_ expects to find him buried under the covers against the cold and the world when he peels them back to crawl into bed, but even then he’s not there. It’s not until he’s settled in, grumpy and upset, that the tapestry door rustles. He sits up as Hajime stomps in, face and hands bright red, and throws himself into Tooru’s bed, burrowing in close without even taking off his shoes. Tooru shuffles to accommodate and Hajime clings to his waist, cold face in his chest. “I _hate_ this place,” he growls, only the tips of his hair visible. Tooru pats them – breathes a laugh.

“Oh, honey, did you try to scale the wall?” A grunt. Tooru laughs and hugs him close, any concept of a bad mood evaporated. “I love you,” he whispers with a kiss to a frozen forehead.

“I hate you,” Hajime bites back.

“At least take off your coat and shoes,” he mumbles into Hajime’s hair. “Stay a while.”

“In a minute, when I’m human again. Now shut up.” Tooru wriggles down the bed and further under the covers so he can rub his normal nose over Hajime’s icicle one. Hajime grumbles, but lets him. “I can’t stay forever,” he breathes, eyes closed. “Someone will notice, especially on our first night here.”

“You can and you will.” Tooru laces his fingers tight behind Hajime’s back. “This is my house, and if I say that your bed is also my bed, then there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

“But talk.”

“Let them talk.” He pushes his face into Hajime’s neck. “Just let me hold you.” Hajime sighs.


	16. Tobio

Tooru spreads out starfish on the floor, staring up at the dark ceiling as textured ice crunches with Hajime’s return to his room. He closes his eyes and mumbles, “That was fast.”

“Daichi called me out.” Hajime falls down beside him and curls into his side, head on the dip of his shoulder. “We should keep him around for a while,” he yawns, clutching Tooru close around the ribs. Tooru hums, burying the hand of the arm pinned under Hajime in his hair. Hajime sighs and arches into it, throwing a leg over his and squirming closer.

“You’re such a cuddlebug when you’re cold,” Tooru whispers. He presses his face into Hajime’s hair, mouth on his temple, not a kiss, just resting. “Can’t say I mind.”

“M’not cold. Now.” He worms his arm under Tooru, fingers snarling in the fabric covering his hip. “That was some story.”

Tooru purses his mouth – a real kiss. “Don’t feel bad for me,” he breathes, “I barely remember it.” He sighs. “Of course, he burnt off my long pretty virgin hair, and it’s been too fluffy since to get back to that length without driving me crazy.”

Hajime’s petting fingers still. “The haircut.” He lifts his head to look Tooru in the eye. “That’s why you insisted on that last-minute haircut. Your weird little powerplay.”

Tooru grins and rubs Hajime’s hovering nose with his. “That’s why I love you, ‘cause you’re so smart, Iwa-chan!” Hajime snarls and squeezes his ribs hard enough to hurt. Tooru coughs.

“You’re such a _bitch_ ,” Hajime hisses. “Give the poor kid a break.”

“You’ll see what I mean when you spend more than five minutes with him,” Tooru sing-songs. “He’s _intolerable_.”

“You have a bad habit of not giving people second chances, love. You should work on that.”

“Mmm. Maybe later.” He rolls them over to press Hajime into furs, face in his neck as he mouths over a tendon, whispers, “All I wanna do now is test how thick these walls are.” He feels Hajime gulp under his grin. He bites down, and Hajime gasps.


	17. Kanoka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Sorry about the delay! Had to deal with American holidays, too much family in one house, and no Internet connection, as well as Pokemon Sun. This is an idea I've had since the conception of the Minivan, so I hope you enjoy! [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

It takes Tooru _ages_ to clear out his front room of people every night. It’s not the worst problem to have – the conversation is engaging, and each evening is memorable and different in its personal connections, but it’s in Tooru’s _room_. He needs his space.

He falls back on his bed with a sigh, kicking off his shoes and throwing his arms out wide. “It’s been a day,” he moans, clenching his eyes shut. “I didn’t know you could get this exhausted and not die.”

“Oh, so you’re that tired, hm?” Hajime teases, furs tugging and shifting under Tooru as he crawls on the bed next to him. “So we’re just gonna go to sleep with barely a kiss goodnight?”

Tooru rolls towards the voice and lands face-down in his lap. “ _No,_ ” he moans loader, muffled in Hajime’s hip. He laughs, still coughing as Tooru’s roll knocked the breath out of him, and runs a hand through the hair in his lap. “Just gimme five,” Tooru mumbles.

“What was that? Turn off the light?” Tooru throws an arm around Hajime’s waist and pins him down – not that difficult when he’s laughing this hard, breathless with it. “Even _if_ you’re awake enough to have a go,” Hajime says when he can, “I doubt you’re up for what you’re in position for now.” Tooru bites what’s under his mouth – the hem of Hajime’s tunic – and tugs. “Does the baby need some help sitting up?” Hajime croons. Tooru growls and shoves up to his hands, leaning over a grinning, gleaming Hajime and trying to keep his scowl ferocious.

“You are the _worst_ ,” he hisses. Hajime kisses his nose and pats his cheek. Tooru knocks their foreheads together in a headbutt and pushes to his feet. “Why do I even _want_ to have sex with you at all,” he whines as he flaunts across the room to the rug-curtain hiding Hajime’s gear from view. Hajime chuckles behind him.

“I ask myself that every day,” Hajime mutters, the light humor falling an octave in his tone. Tooru wrinkles his nose, but leaves that continuing debate for another night as he digs in a mismatched side pocket for the yam-lube, twisting it open to check the contents – they had used a lot the night before. There’s maybe enough clinging to the sides to coat one finger. Just when he was getting used to the smell, too.

He sighs and tucks it away. “You said there was sex stuff shoved in this whole thing, yeah?”

“More or less.” Cloth rustles behind him, and Tooru forces himself to stay on mission and not turn to watch Hajime undress like the barbarian he is. “Need help?” his voice asks.

Tooru curls his lip. “I’ll take my chances.” He yanks the drawstring of the main pocket open harder than necessary, digging through old dirty clothes and real, actual rocks for something that opens. “When are you gonna wash this thing?”

“When it falls in the ocean,” Hajime fires back. “Hurry up, it’s cold.”

“Crybaby,” Tooru mutters under his breath as his fingers brush something curved and glazed. He extracts it from the mess, mouth open to announce victory – but the words die as his throat closes up and all that can squeak out is a little “oh”.

“What’s taking so damn long?” Hajime growls. Tooru spins on his (good) knee, hands cupping the teal, white, and grass green tile ball, each piece smooth-edged and fired, the designs traced into the slick more detailed than any message he received almost two years ago buried in a grocery basket in Ba Sing Se. It takes Hajime, only in his pants and a smile, a minute for it to click and for the smile to fall. “Oh.” He bites his lip. “Forgot about that.”

“You _forgot?_ ” Tooru does his best not to squeeze the ball out of its delicate form, hands trembling. “How? _Why?_ ”

Hajime swallows, not breaking eye contact. “After so long of making them under my pillow at night, it became – therapeutic. Something to do with my hands that didn’t hurt, just remembered.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks at his socks. “For a long time, that was all I had. Muscle memory.” Tooru sucks in a breath – he has to remind himself to breathe. “There’s probably a lot more of them broken around the Outer Ring. That’s just the one I forgot to break.”

Tooru stumbles to his feet and takes a few big strides across the room to fall on his (good) knee in front of Hajime, ball rolling to the side so he can grab his perfect scratchy face and kiss him, catching any more words before they can leave, eating them with no sound filter, table salt and tea. Hajime kisses him right back, knees parting so he can hold Tooru closer, hands roaming. Tooru breaks so he can kiss over Hajime’s face, sloppy and untargeted, laughing as the table salt drips into his mouth. Hajime holds him steady at the neck and ribs, legs locked tight so he can’t leave. Not again. Tooru goes back to Hajime’s mouth and stays there until the twist of emotions fighting in his ribcage settles down and picks a leader. He smiles against Hajime’s mouth as Hajime wipes away the tear tracks on his cheeks with his thumbs, laughter escaping like yellow ginkgo leaves.

They breathe each other’s air, Tooru overwhelmed for the first time in months that he _can_. He laces his fingers behind Hajime’s neck and whispers, “So what’s in it?”

Hajime’s thumbs still. “I honestly have no idea.” Tooru laughs and dives for it, followed a second later by Hajime, gold bubble laughter keeping them warm.


	18. Shigeru

The thing Tooru misses the most about his attic room in Ba Sing Se is having a lock on the door. With the billowing rug-doors popular here, Hajime refuses to even _entertain_ the idea of sex in the daytime – even when daylight lasts through the night this time of year. He’s come around to Tooru’s pleas to stay the whole night, but when there’s a chance that one of the household could appear and find them compromised, he stays at a respectable distance or gone altogether. Tooru can’t _wait_ to get out of the North Pole.

Today he manages to wrestle Hajime into helping him with paperwork, calculating profits and what they’ll be able to swing for the return trip. Hajime didn’t have the childhood of private algebra tutors that Tooru did, but the Dai Li had forced some core education down his crass throat before they threw him out in the streets. Even if he isn’t a huge fan of sitting still and reading for hours at a time, he can follow when Tooru explains, so once again he becomes a teacher in his own house. It’s hard to mind when Hajime has to lean in to watch him calculate over his shoulder, chin resting there just enough to touch. Even math is enjoyable with Hajime offering comments and quick touches alongside.

They lose track of time for a while, alternating between math, talking about math, talking about the people and products behind the math, and just talking. It’s not until Hajime’s stomach growls that Tooru puts down his brush and looks out the window. “I never know what time of day it is around midsummer here,” he yawns, stretching his stiff shoulders. “Messes with my head every time.”

“Midsummer…” Hajime blinks, staring blankly at the white sun outside. “Is that today?”

“Tomorrow,” Tooru clarifies after a thought, “tomorrow’s the solstice festival. It’s always a good time.” He tilts his head at Hajime. “Why?”

Hajime shrugs. Tooru picks up his lukewarm tea to check if it’s palatable. “Nothing, just my birthday.” Tooru chokes, coughing on cold tea. Hajime pounds his back. “You okay?”

“ _No!_ ” Tooru shoves out as he slams the cup down, still coughing and sloshing. “What the _fuck_ , Iwa-chan? Your _birthday_?” He coughs again, tears in his eyes. Hajime’s fist on his back uncurls to a wide, warm hand. “It’s your _birthday tomorrow_ and you didn’t _tell me?_ ” Hajime shrugs, features impassive, and Tooru moans, slamming his face on the table. “What am I gonna do with you,” he moans into the old wood. Hajime strokes down his spine.

“Sorry, love. Birthdays haven’t meant much to me in a while.” Tooru glares at him between the fall of his hair and the table as he shrugs again. “Haven’t had other people to care about it.” Tooru chokes up for a new reason and reaches for Hajime, catching his tunic on the third try and hauling him in to grip him tight. Hajime wheezes down his neck. “ _Tooru_ ,” he gasps, but he doesn’t let go.

“You terrible, awful, horrible _jerk_ ,” he hisses, “I _hate_ you!”

“Please don’t do this,” Hajime mumbles, but Tooru ignores him.

“You are so _insensitive_ and _cruel_ and _selfless_ and _perfect_!” He buries his face in his chest. “What did I do to deserve you?” Before Hajime can answer, Tooru pops back up to glare at his wide eyes. “We’re having a before-festival party here with _everyone_ tomorrow to celebrate,” he snaps, “and I won’t hear a _word_ otherwise!”

Hajime’s face softens, hands coming up from being held in the air at their sides to cup Tooru’s neck, thumbs stroking over his jawline. “I guess I can let it slide this time,” he says, watching flesh give under his thumb. “But, for the record, I don’t like parties about me.”

“You’ll get over it.” He turns his head to take one of Hajime’s thumbs into his mouth, hold it with his teeth and a sidelong glance. “I can schill give you a presen’, righ’?”

Hajime gulps and yanks his hands away, scooting back so it’s just knees touching again. “Later,” he growls, face red. “Don’t you have math to finish first?”

Tooru groans and reaches for Hajime, but he just bats him away and glares, harder and more scowl-y than necessary. Tooru swallows both his ego and his laughter and sighs. “Ok, Mr. Workmaster, _fine_ ,” he whines, picking his brush back up. He flicks the bristles across Hajime’s nose, leaving a black streak of ink across his started face. Tooru grins. “But I’m holding you to that ‘later’.” Hajime puffs up and looks away; Tooru takes it as a tie and gets back to his calculating the amount of dried seaweed they can buy.


	19. Festival

Tooru slides up next to Hajime against the wall, bumping shoulders as he leans in to whisper, “I thought you said you didn’t like parties about you? Growing old has changed you, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime cuts his eyes at him over the mug he’s hiding his smile behind. “Grow up, shithead,” he bites back without any bark, shoulder-bumping him back. “I should have known you could put on a decent party,” he mumbled into his cider, looking around at the familiar faces, light snack food, and hot alcohol waiting to be poured from ceramic mugs. Tooru snags his fingers in the back of Hajime’s belt to keep from fidgeting with the décor, covering Hajime’s hand with his own to steal a sip. Hajime scowls at him as he slurps. “Get your own!”

Tooru grins, cinnamon on his tongue. “Make me, old-timer.” Hajime’s lip curls, and Tooru snickers, tapping Hajime’s knuckle with a finger. “I still feel bad I don’t have a present more than the party,” he said with a hum, running his thumb back and forth along Hajime’s belt. “But it’s your fault for your lack of warning.”

“This is more than enough.” He doesn’t even look around for watchers before turning his head and kissing Tooru’s cheek, more nose than mouth. “Thank you, love.”

“Sure!” Tooru clears away the crack in his voice, and Hajime chuckles in his ear.

“Ow _ow_ , two little lovebirds sitting in a tree!” A weight his size slams into Tooru’s back, followed by one into Hajime’s, squashing them together and sloshing cider on Tooru’s front.

“ _Taka!_ ” Tooru coughs out. Makki sneers, face pressed to his cheek. “Ge’off!”

“Matsukawa, _please_ ,” Hajime begs, muffled into Tooru’s shoulder. Makki and Mattsun high-five around them before backing off enough to let them breath, although Makki's heavy warmth and Mattsun’s looming silhouette stay in range.

Hajime growls, but Mattsun just ruffles his hair. “What, never heard of a birthday sandwich?”

“ _No_ ,” he snaps, but they all know better than to believe his tone when his ears are that shade of red. Tooru pouts, holding Hajime closer, the wet spot on his chest chilling.

“You two _completely_ ruined the mood,” he declares into Hajime’s coarse hedgehog-dog hair. “I’m docking _both_ your pay!”

“As if.” Hajime squirms out of all their holds and stomps across the room to talk to someone else – Watari and Tanaka, apparently, since they’re the furthest away. Tooru sighs. Makko hooks an arm around his neck.

“I don’t know which spirit you sacrificed to so you could keep a steady relationship while being the unrepentant asshole that you are,” he murmurs (Tooru gasps), “but whoever it is, I’m a firm believer.”

Mattsun fills Hajime’s vacant spot to nod along with Makki's point. Tooru gasps again, laced fingers pressed to his chest. “You _dare_ imply that I am the weak link in my relationship?”

“It’s not implying if you’re stating fact.” Tooru squeaks. “You never have told us the full story of how you two met,” he leads.

“Oh, subtle, Issei, nice work.” Mattsun ducks his head in a nod as Makki continues, “But, for real, we’ve been dying to know since he showed up on your arm. Where did you _find_ him?”

Tooru opens his mouth – closes it. “It’s… it’s not my story to tell,” he mumbles. They both lean in.

“Oh, now I _gotta_ know,” Makki says, hopping over to where Hajime is hiding behind Tanaka. “Oi! Hajime!”

Mattsun sighs and tightens his bun. “I’ll go fend him off.” He pats Tooru’s elbow with a weak smile. “It’s okay. I know what secrets are like. I won’t push.” He follows Makki at a slower pace, kicking his heels and whistling as Makki and Hajime dance around a doubled-over Tanaka. Tooru taps his arm – looks down at his tunic with a wrinkled lip. Time to change, and then drink. A _lot_.


	20. Navarana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I hate these fucking assholes. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Tooru wakes up with earthbenders splitting apart his skull and waterbenders churning his belly into a whirlpool, unpleasant dreams fading into real sensations. He moans, burying his head in his pillow against the light – any light. Someone chuckles and rubs his back.

“Rough night, love?” Tooru moans loader, and the chuckle grows to a laugh. “You caused quite a stir.”

“Stop- talking,” Tooru grits out against a wave of headachy nausea. “Gonna puke.”

“You already have, a few times.” A clatter; something round and wood is shoved in his arms. “Here.” He clutches the bucket with a grunt. The nausea tide rises and falls, but nothing comes up until it fades into a dull thrum. Hajime sits behind his arched back the whole time, rubbing up and down it and humming last night’s number they never got to dance to. Right. Last night. He hides his face in the bucket.

“Feeling better yet?” Hajime asks, tangling fingers in his hair. Tooru grumbles even as he pushes into it. “You’re such a clingy pet in the morning,” Hajime mumbles, pushing Tooru’s hair back from his sweat-sticky face.

“Shu’up.” He licks dry lips. Hajime shifts, the hand lifting for a moment.

“Sit up, love,” Hajime mutters, nudging at his shoulder.  Tooru groans, pushing to one elbow, two, the bucket rolling to the floor. Hajime prods and pokes and tugs him up, flopping back against the wall he had been curled against, eyes closed the whole way. “Wake up already,” Hajime grunts. “I’m not gonna feed you.”

Tooru’s buzzing ears catch the slosh of water in a cup. He opens his mouth wide with an _‘ah’_ ; Hajime sighs. “You’re lucky I’m not interested in getting thrown up on again,” he grumbles, holding the cup to Tooru’s lips. He sips it, hand coming up to hold it steady, fingers over Hajime’s – frowns.

“Again?” he asks when the cup moves away. Hajime slides up next to him, arm worming behind his waist to hold his opposite hip.

“Only a little. It was your coat, anyway.” Tooru whines and hides his face in Hajime’s neck. Hajime rests his cheek on the top of his head. “S’my fault for leaving you with that slimeball,” he mutters, stroking the bared skin between Tooru’s undershirt and his– dress pants. He should probably get out of those. In a minute. He takes the water cup from Hajime’s other hand, sipping it as his stomach lets him as Hajime traces nonsense on his hipbone, swaying a little with his idle hum. The night before comes back to Tooru in pieces – the leaps of the mummers, shadows dancing on ice, whirling giggles and cloth flowers. He frowns. His water is empty.

“Iwa- _chan_ ,” he whines, knocking it against Hajime’s chest. It gives under his ear.

“You’re so _needy_.” He withdraws his arm, crawling across the bed to the lighter side, water pouring on the edge of Tooru’s awareness.

He wavers in his prop against the wall, grasping at the straws of memories – his eyes pop open. “Shit.”

“Need the bucket after all?”

Tooru clenches his eyes shut against the spinning white room. “No- maybe, no. Just ‘membered ‘bout Mr. Kag.” He grits his teeth. “ _Shit_. Whatta nightmare.”

Hajime hums and shuffles back to his side, wrapping Tooru’s fingers around the refilled cup. “Not your fault.” He curls against Tooru, holding him close, breath hot on his neck. Tooru would really like to do something with Hajime’s clingy mood if he didn’t feel like death warmed over. “I know there wasn’t any threat on you, now, not really,” Hajime tells his shoulder, “but – when I saw that picture across the way-” He shivers and clutches Tooru tighter. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Tooru’s heart flips and flutters, not helping erase his nausea at all.

“Aw, honey.” Tooru smacks a kiss on his forehead (what’s probably his forehead). “You don’t have to watch over me _every_ second of _every_ day.” He smiles. “But it’s cute when you try.” Hajime grunts, and they take a moment just to sit. Well, Tooru takes a moment to gulp his water and brace himself against another headache spike while Hajime nuzzles in closer. Hajime is always such a hot water bottle, a wool blanket he can hide under when the monsters at the window growl too loud. Security embodied. Tooru tries to fight it with his ‘I can take care of myself’ speeches, but he melts into it every time.

“Still feel like I owe you an apology,” Hajime mumbles, lips moving in the dip of Tooru’s collarbone. Tooru opens his mouth, but Hajime adds on first, “So how ‘bout that dance?”

“Really? _Now?_ ” Hajime chuckles. “Iwa-chan, at least wait ‘til I can stand without falling over.”

“Fine. A rain check.” He traces over the veins in Tooru’s wrist – water splashes over their fingers. “One dance, whenever and however you want it.” He kisses Tooru’s neck. “Free of charge.”

Tooru swallows – Hajime’s tongue tracks it. “I won’t forget that.” Hajime laughs into his skin, clutching Tooru’s forearm. Tooru smiles.


	21. Ryuunosuke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Sorry this took so long, but, y'know, _life in America_. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It’s baffling. It’s idiotic. It’s _infuriating_. But it’s irrefutable.

Hajime is… _friendly_ with Tobio Kageyama.

Tooru is _not_ hiding in a corner, sipping on rotten tea and glaring across his back parlor at a happy, glowing, _chatty_ Hajime, laughing and joking with a stiff red Tobio, lips thin-pressed and eyes bright as Hajime slaps his back and calls him ‘kid’. How _nauseating_.

“You look like you sat in chicken-pig shit, pretty boy,” Tanaka says, dropping on the arm of the couch by Tooru and laying along the back.

Tooru huffs. “I do _not_.” Hajime ruffles Tobio’s bangs, making his flush splotchier as he bows away – he _hates_ having his hair touched, but when Hajime goes to straighten it with an apology, Tobio lets him. “I’m just – mildly miffed.”

Tanaka barks a laugh, slaps his shoulder hard enough to make him almost drop his tea. “Yeah! Yeah, I getcha!” He ruffles Tooru’s hair (he almost throws his teacup on the table to save it from spilling) and leaves his hand there even as Tooru balks and swats at his elbow. “It’s been a rough time up here, for all of us,” he says, tone falling. Tooru stops swatting. “I’ll be glad to get outta here myself.”

“I hear that.” Tobio tugs at his belt as he says something that makes Hajime belly laugh. Tooru growls, and Tanaka snorts.

“Easy there. People might start sayin’ I’m rubbin’ off on ya.” Tooru glances up in time to catch Tanaka’s wink. “Thanks, by the by, for lettin’ me’n the bossman stay here. I know it’s for granted, but it’s still kind a’ y’all.”

Tooru smiles. “Koushi might actually kill me if I was petty enough to turn any of his own out. It’s no problem.” He grins. “Better than an empty house, at any rate.” Tanaka tugs on a lock of his hair, not hard enough to hurt. “You gonna stop petting me?”

“Aw, is the pretty gentleman upset by the common touch?” He burrows his hand in deeper, laughing. Tooru shoves him off the sofa arm. Tanaka just rolls with it, sitting on the floor and propping his chin on the sofa arm. “Touchy.”

“Bite me.” Tanaka bares his teeth, and Tooru can’t help but laugh. “We should spar again soon,” he says, flicking Ryuu’s ear with a nail. “I miss kicking your ass.”

“Oh- _ho?_ Those sound like fightin’ words, city boy!” He rabbit-bear punches Tooru’s arm. “You’re on!” Tooru punches him back, and Tanaka groans more than the hit is worth, curling around his arm. Tooru raises an eyebrow, but Tanaka shakes it off with a weak grin. “Maybe when we’re back on real ground?”

“It’s a date, then, bitey.” Tanaka sticks his tongue out, then sighs, resting his cheek on his forearm to scan the room. Tooru watches him out of the corner of his eye, reaching for his chilled teacup to have something in his hands. Tanaka’s fallen back into that strange, quiet mood he’s lived in their entire stay at the North Pole, staring past the people with twitching fingers, his usual unavoidable volume muted for no apparent reason, and it makes Tooru frown and tap his toes every time. Tooru didn’t know how much he had grown to rely on his crow caw in the background until it wasn’t there. This new quiet Tanaka can’t be called an improvement. He scratches Tanaka’s head like he’s seen Daichi do so many times, stubble jumping under his fingers. “Aren’t you tired of sitting on the floor?”

Tanaka shrugs, but hops to his feet anyway, stretching until his back pops. “I could do with a snack, I guess.” He nudges Tooru’s shoulder. “Want anything?”

Tooru smiles his sweetest. “Not from you.” Tanaka shows him the back of his hand with a laugh and a raspberry before drifting over to the picked-through platter across – damn. Hajime is _still_ laughing at Tobio’s piss-poor attempts at jokes. His lip curls, and he is slow to hide it behind his tea leaves.

A long body falls on the sofa next to him. “Can’t believe the boss is lapping Kageyama’s shit up,” Kindaichi the youngest snarls.

Tooru slaps his teacup down on the table. “I _know_ , right?” Kindaichi’s face screws up as he launches into a litany of Tobio’s latest offenses, a topic Tooru has no issue appending to in a loud, carrying voice until Daichi comes over to slap both of them on the head.


	22. Tetsurou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: God I missed this fic. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Tooru can’t sleep. It’s late, he’s tired, he’s irritable, and Hajime is curled against his side and drooling on his shoulder, but he _can’t_. The latest mountain of a wrench in his schedule has buried under his skin and made a home there, always nagging at him in daytime and dreams. He knows he’s being a bitch to everyone, but he _has_ to get home on time. He can’t have a failure on his first solo mission, or it might be his last.

(It won’t be, he knows it. His parents aren’t that ruthless with their children. His siblings have all failed in their own ways, but were given chances to recover and prove themselves. So why is he so _scared?_ )

He’s trying not to be restless out loud, but Hajime was always something of a mood-reader. He grumbles, shoving his face into Tooru’s neck, arms squeezing where they’re wrapped around Tooru’s waist. “Go’sleep,” he yawns, nose in the hollow behind Tooru’s ear. “Sto’ thinkin’ so loud.”

Tooru sighs, turning his head to rest a kiss on Hajime’s forehead. “Wish it was that easy, sweetheart.” He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of his hair and the midnight quiet. He twists fingers in the baby hairs at Hajime’s nape, turning his hips into Hajime’s hold. Hajime sighs, humid breath misting over Tooru’s neck and chest. His heartbeat slows, matching Hajime’s resting rate as his other arm comes around to rest between Hajime’s shoulder blades, fingers curling in cotton. Hajime nuzzles deeper into the pillow between Tooru’s face and shoulder. Tooru’s ribs grip his heart tight. “Love you,” he whispers into Hajime’s hairline.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” he mumbles in reply. Tooru smiles.

He’s almost asleep, _almost_ , when something raps at the door. Tooru’s lip curls – again. The door. Some _one_. He groans and extracts himself from Hajime’s wrap, tracing the curve of his exposed ear before crossing to the door, straightening his clothes in the six steps.

He opens the door with a pointed yawn – oh. Mr. Nobu. He leans on the doorframe, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t you know the time?”

“Don’t you?” Tooru pulls a face, and Mr. Nobu grins. “I think you might like this wakeup call.” He jerks a thumb down the hall towards the inn’s front dining room. “Keishin’s getting drunk under the table by an old geezer who says he sails down the Tranq all the time and would give us a lift for a price.”

It takes a second for Tooru to register anything beyond the word ‘geezer’ coming out of Mr. Nobu’s mouth. “Are you sure he’s not drinking _you_ under the table, too?” Mr. Nobu grins.

“The price of admission.” He reaches up to ruffle Tooru’s hair – he hasn’t done that since he had to reach _down_. Tooru jerks back, but Mr. Nobu just chuckles, color high on his face. “C’mon down and hear him out,” he says, flapping a hand at the room behind Tooru’s back. “And bring Iwaizumi.” He saunters back down the hall before Tooru can pretend like Hajime’s not there, whistling a work song. Tooru blinks after him, mouth open – shakes it off. A _boat_. He smiles and takes a running jump onto the bed, laughing as Hajime grunts and flails. “Iwa-chan!” He scoops Hajime up, blankets and all, to more undignified squawking. “A _boat!_ ”


	23. Nekomata

“Ugh!” Tooru flops down face-first on the weird red bed, brocades fluffing out around him. “I _hate_ him!”

Hajime falls down beside him on his back, groaning. “Shut _up_.” Tooru tries to elbow him and misses.

“ _You_ don’t have to deal with him, _you_ don’t understand.”

“I have to deal with _you_ , don’t I?” Hajime rolls over, slinging his arm across Tooru and manhandling him around to cuddle against his back. “Just – be quiet,” he mutters into Tooru’s neck. “F’two secon’s.”

Tooru hums, but obeys, looking around their new room. It’s nice, he guesses, if you like overdone and scarlet, metal embellishments curling around the slit windows and cupping the light fixtures. He misses the crystal runners of home. He wants to be _home_.

“Hey.” Hajime holds him closer, twisting their bared ankles together. “Stop thinking so loud. Told you to be quiet.”

“This place is so _weird_ ,” Tooru mumbles, placing his hand over Hajime’s on his stomach and forcing his fingers between the gaps. “I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t like the North Pole either, but we all have to suffer in life. I survived.” He yawns, breath ruffling Tooru’s hair. “You’ll survive one asshole for a little while.”

Tooru pouts at the painted screen across the room. “Have you _seen_ the way he looks at Daichi? Like he wants to cut him up and eat him.”

“Seems to me that’s Daichi’s problem.” He drums his fingers into Tooru’s ticklish spots until he jerks away, arching back into Hajime’s chest. Hajime grins, the flats of his teeth pressed against Tooru’s neck. “Now be quiet, before I go find the bed I’m supposed to be in.” Tooru sighs – they should change, or get under the covers at least – but Hajime burrows in, breath evening with every exhale, warmth surrounding him. He smiles and closes his eyes.


	24. Kenma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I'm weak and slow. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

“I’m proud of you.” Tooru looks up from his food (some too-spicy stew) as Hajime sits down next to him in his shady corner of the mess. Hajime jerks his chin at a table across the way. “You haven’t tried to kill the kid even once since we left port.”

Tooru glances at the indicated table. Tobio’s hungry eyes are watching Yamamoto show Tanaka how he can roast tossed-up dumplings before they hit the table. Honestly, the only thing keeping anyone from guessing his bender status is the unwillingness to conceive the possibility. Tooru drums his fingers on the table, eyes narrowing; Hajime slaps his hand over them. “What?” Tooru whines.

“ _Behave_.” He forgets to take his hand away as he blows on his stew on the longshot chance it will cool down. “I guess you’re too busy not killing Kuroo to have time imagining anyone else’s murder.” He sticks the spoon in his mouth with a wince. “No wonder everyone over there wants to come here.” He swallows so he can open his mouth and air it out. “We _definitely_ have the best food.” He pours some of the table dumplings in to soak up the broth and pushes them away to sit. “Still,” he says, back on topic. “It was good to bring him along. I know you said you didn’t have a choice, but I know you. You could’ve found a way out if you wanted.” He lifts Tooru’s trapped hand to press his mouth to Tooru’s hot palm, eyes smiling over their fingers. Tooru’s ears burst into flame, so he shoves stew in his mouth to explain it. Hajime chuckles, lowering their hands below the table.

“I didn’t do it for _you_ ,” Tooru snaps after downing most of his water glass. “You weren’t even _there_.”

“I know.” A hand squeeze. “It’s too much fun to let Daichi kick your ass for me sometimes. And you didn’t need me to make the right choice.” He gestures with his spoon at Tobio, who is spouting off questions at a laughing Tanaka and a flustered Yamamoto. “I know this wasn’t on the agenda, but it’s – really good, for him.”

“Stop being so _nice_ about it, Iwa-chan!” Tooru drawls, kicking him under the table. “You’re making me feel bad for being petty!”

“Someone has to.” He tries one of his sponge-dumplings and wrinkles his lip. "No, nah bettah.” He gulps and sighs. “Times like this you miss Watari.”

Tooru frowns. “Watari? Why?”

Hajime frowns back. “Kid wants to open a restaurant back home. Didn’t you know that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, though, but slaps the table and gets up, maneuvering his legs out of the welded-down bench and table. “Well, time to feed this to the fluffball,” he says. “Glad we got our garbage disposal on staff now.” He ruffles Tooru’s hair and goes to find the wretched dog, leaving Tooru to frown around at his crew and wonder what other secrets he had yet to conceive their possibility.


	25. Akira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: It's been a while since I remembered how much I hate iwaoi. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Although every part of Tooru itches at being trapped in the ship like cattle in a barn, it’s nice to be able to sleep in a little bit past dawn. They don’t have space belowdeck big enough for morning drill, so instead of Hajime kicking him awake to go get sweaty, he gets to wake up slow and roll into Hajime’s chest, resting his ear on his heart and listening to him breathe.

It’s warm and soft in their bed, even with the too-slick silk sheets cool on his back. He combs his fingers through Hajime’s short hair, chin propped on Hajime’s shoulder to watch. He’s kept it short since he had his braid chopped off, shrinking from finger long to thumb long as he keeps going back to Mattsun for a trim every week. He seems happier for it, but that doesn’t stop Tooru from missing being able to twirl it around his fingers.

Hajime hums, arching into Tooru’s touch as he drifts awake. Tooru smiles. “Morning, precious.” He pulls a face, eyes still shut against the faint sunlight from the long window along the curved outside wall. Tooru chuckles, fingers tracing behind Hajime’s ear to cup his jaw. Hajime sighs and flops to press his mouth to Tooru’s face blindly, hitting the corner of his eye. Tooru giggles, letting Hajime haul him all the way on his chest so he doesn’t miss this time. They both taste stale, but Tooru melts into it anyway, holding Hajime’s head still so he can pry his jaw open and lick inside. Hajime huffs, between a laugh and a hum, hands roaming over Tooru’s back, sheet sliding down from his bare shoulders, sparking static heat in his wake. If they’re quick about it, maybe they can squeeze in a round before breakfast-

The suite door bangs open past the bedroom. “ _Yo, Oikawa! Wake up!_ ” Takahiro calls. Tooru and Hajime freeze, eyes popping open to stare at each other, all the static sucked away. “ _We swiped some of Daichi’s tea!_ ”

“Shit,” Hajime hisses, shoving Tooru off him and diving for his clothes at the foot of the bed. Tooru clutches the sheet to his chest as the door handle rattles – he _had_ to start locking that at night.

“We’ll be out in a second!” he yells back. The rattling paused, and Hajime kicked at him.

“ _We?_ ” Shit. Mattsun’s chuckles harmonize with Makki’s cackles. “ _I knew it!_ ”

“ _It wasn’t like it was a real secret_ ,” Mattsun says. The door flies open, catching Tooru still rabbit-stuck with the sheet in his fists and Hajime hopping into his pants. Makki and Mattsun have the same fucking grin on, demonic and delighted. “Oh, this is gorgeous,” Mattsun croons, ducking from the boot Hajime beans at his head so it sails into the front room.

“ _Get out!_ ” Tooru screeches, face on fire.

Makki thumbed his nose at him. “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, sir,” he laughs. “We’re all naked under our clothes.”

“Iwa-chan, kill them!” Hajime is halfway there already, pants only barely on, but Mattsun slams the door before he can attack, the laughter no less grating for the barrier. “You’re both fired!” Oikawa cries.

“ _Oh, as if!_ ” A few taps at the door. “ _You would miss us too much!_ ”

Tooru pouts at the door as their voices retreat from the door, probably to brew some of their ill-gotten tea. Tooru bares his teeth at the door, but Hajime’s shoulders sag, rubbing his red neck before he turns back to Tooru with a grin. “Well.” He crosses to the too-wide bed, tying up his pants as he goes. “Guess that could’ve gone worse.” He sits down next to Tooru and grips his neck, knocking their foreheads together. “Get dressed, love,” he whispers, and Tooru wants to do anything _but_. But he lets Tooru go with a peck to the nose, crawling down the bed for his shirt. “I’ll go take the beating. They like me more.”

Tooru gasps. “Oh, as if!” Hajime grins, hiding it behind his shirt as he yanks it on, swinging to his feet and ruffling Tooru’s hair as he passes.

“It’s okay,” he says, a laugh sleeping under the rumble. “I like you the best.” He slips out before Tooru can recover, catcalls ringing through the crack as Tooru is left reeling and clutching his heart through red silk.


	26. Sou

Tooru meets his crew when they return from their ship-sinking adventures in the loading bay. After an hour of watching them work from his silk-lined prison, he has no interested in staying put and waiting on them to drag their heels back upstairs. Tanaka and Tobio come with him, their mostly-silent vigil unbroken as they shadow through the empty ship like so many ghosts. They wait, listening to the river lap at the open berth door and the absence of birdsong from the lingering battle aftermath. If he had been able to _hear_ he would have _recognized_ that-

The fisher curves into sight. The three of them jump into action, spreading out around the bay to help them haul it in and secure it. The quiet one and the mohawk one leap out as soon as they’re able to lead their direction, Tooru’s crew waiting until they’re past the ankle-deep water to do the same. Kunimi skates up the side from the river itself, almost running into Tooru on his landing. Tooru catches his arm with a smile.

“Good work out there,” he says, patting his shoulder. Kunimi blinks, color high on his cheeks.

“Sure.” His eyes flick away. “You might wanna check on the boss, later,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear over the racket of the arrival. “He took it pretty hard.”

Tooru hums. “I will. Thank you.” Kunimi nods a quick bow, then darts around to grab a rope and tie it around a stay in the wall. Tooru smiles after him – wait. Did he mean Daichi or Hajime? The younger boys had taken to calling both of them ‘boss’. Tooru frowns, watching the milling heads for signs of distress. Ukai is checking on the brat, who is _fine_ , Tanaka and his new best friend are hassling Kindaichi, the poor kid, Makki has both Mattsun and the quiet one in his long reach, neither of them happy to be there. Where are-

Movement back up on the battered desk catches his eye. Daichi jumps down and turns to look back up at Kuroo, who has a new face draped across his shoulders, thin and gaunt and young. Kuroo’s mouth moves in faraway mutters as he coaxes the newcomer over the railing so he can inch his way down the available surfaces until Daichi can get a hand on him and help him down to the deck. Daichi limbs are filthy to the elbow and knee, jaw set as he holds the new kid steady until Kuroo can drop down and support their other side. Of _course_ he found another stray.

“Hey.” Tooru glances over his shoulder as Hajime comes up behind him, not as dirty as Daichi but jaw just as clenched. Ah. Maybe it was both bosses after all. Tooru beams.

“Iwa-chan! Lovely to see you again!” Hajime rolls his eyes and pauses at his elbow, watching Kuroo and Daichi help the kid limp towards the stairs, head lolling onto Daichi’s un-armored shoulder. “Is that…”

“The only survivor? Yeah.” He points his chin at their backs. “Daichi pulled him out of the shore ship.”

Tooru sighs. “It would be nice on my purse if he would stop adopting every poor puppy that crosses his path.” Hajime doesn’t respond, eyes distant as they track the three’s slow progress. Tooru fiddles with the seam of a glove. “Was it that bad?”

“Yeah.” Hajime’s forehead furrows, and all Tooru wants to do is smooth them away. “But it’s war. It’s always bad.”

Tooru bumps their arms together. “Do you need to talk about it?”

“No – not now.” The two unburdened Fire Nation sailors raise the bay door, shutting out the foggy light and signaling for everyone to go above. Hajime pushes to his toes to kiss Tooru’s cheek as their eyes adjust, hand resting above Tooru’s elbow for balance. “Later.”

Tooru smiles, swaying after him. “Sure. I’ll be here.” Hajime pats his other cheek, eyes smiling, before cross the bay to pull Kunimi and Kindaichi out of Tanaka’s heckling range and back upstairs. Tooru has to wait until his knees condense from jelly back to bone to follow.


	27. Hajime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I hope this makes my motives and intentions perfectly clear. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

It’s not the most comfortable thing to sleep on the ground. Tooru deals with it when he has to, but he has a _real bed_ not even a hundred yards away from him, and that hardly constitutes ‘has to’ living. However, no one else has snuck off to sleep inside, and like hell he’ll cave to the conditions before the flamethrowers do. He has his dignity.

Something kicks him in the stomach. He squeaks and sits up – it’s a rock, shoved up from the ground. He looks around for Daichi and finds him above, struggling down the jagged clifftop with a snoring Hajime on his back. Tooru curses and scrambles to his feet, pebbles crunching too loud in the quiet midnight. “What happened?” he hisses when he’s closer, spotting their descent for the last few uneven steps. Daichi grits his teeth, breathing hard through his nose.

“Talked. Fell asleep on me.” He hops down the last three feet, Tooru steadying their top-heavy weight on the landing. “Sleeps like a rock, this one.”

Tooru huffs. “Don’t have to tell me.” They stumbled a few more steps away from the cliff and the circle around the dying fire before Daichi takes a knee to lower Hajime to the ground, still passed out cold and grunting in his sleep. Tooru sits so he can pull Hajime’s head onto his lap, smoothing out the adorable scrunches with a smile. Daichi crosses his legs tailor-style to sit in front of him, straightening out his twisted shirt. Tooru smiles at him and asks, “What di y’all talk about?”

Daichi shrugs. “Stuff.” He tugs his wild ponytail tighter. “How you two met.”

Tooru’s breath escapes him, Daichi watching his face for his reaction. “Oh.” Daichi opens a hand. “And?”

“Like I told him, I don’t know enough to care. And it’s not up to me to broadcast it.” Something tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not my secret to tell.” He swirls his fingers in the pebbles at his crossed ankles, clinking and clattering. “But if you need – support, when you do decide to talk to the boys about it. I’m around.”

Tooru bites his lip, hand still running through Hajime’s hair. Daichi eyes flick up when he’s silent for a few beats too long, the white patch of the bandage on his right cheek throwing off Tooru’s usual read on him. Tooru smiles. “Just thinking how glad I am you decided to come along, farmhand.” Daichi’s eyes crinkle. “I’m not looking forward to giving you back to Koushi.”

Daichi huffs. “I don’t _belong_ to him, y’know.” He grips his left palm with his right hand, rolling his thumb between his first two knuckles. “I think it might be hard for me to go back, too,” he admits in a small voice. He scratches his head with a toothy grin. “I’ve been ruined for hard labor.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘ruined’.” Hajime shifts in his lap, throwing an arm out to pull Tooru closer, nuzzling into his stomach. Tooru coughs. “I quite like this new Daichi.”

“Well, thank you, dear.” Tooru wrinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue. Daichi winks. “It’s at least a _little_ your fault, after all.”

“Oh, stop your flattery,” Tooru scoffing, flapping a hand. “I know you mean it.” He yawns, covering it with the back of his hand. Daichi flicks his good knee.

“You should take him inside, get some rest,” he says, voice soft and rumbly. “You need it.”

Tooru cocks his head. “What about you? Isn’t it about time for you to sneak off for another bad hair decision?”

Even in the dim light Tooru can see Daichi’s face flare up red. He looks down and away, scratching the back of his neck. “Well – no, not tonight.” He tugs on his earlobe, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “He’s – busy. And so am I.” His hand falls to rest on Hajime’s ankle, still staring at the lapping river waves. “We’re not the only people we each care about, after all.”

Tooru bites on his smile. “Aw.” He sighs. “Well, if you and your trash man are separated for the night, I’m sure there are plenty of other people willing to share a mattress.” He rubs at his eyes, sensitive and weak. Daichi chuckles.

“Only if I make it, huh?” Tooru shrugs, smiling through another yawn. Daichi sticks his hands in the pebbles, ground sifting them into loose dirt and latent dampness seeping away in a rough square around their two-sided circle. Tooru falls back, sighing as it gives under him almost as good as down. “You’ve gotten better at this,” he moans, wriggling around to straighten his legs out without lifting Hajime’s head from his lap. It does slide down into the dip of his stomach as Hajime rolls from his side to his front, grumbling but not waking up. Daichi stretches with a yawn and sprawls forward to use Hajime’s back as his own pillow.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, “I try.” Tooru pats his head blindly, and Daichi hums. “Night, dear.”

Tooru smiles. “Sweet dreams.”


	28. Fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Blame Momocon for why this took more than 24 hours to produce. To the people who stopped by my table to say hi, thank you for talking to me and I hope I didn't scare you too much by how much I hate Kuroo Testurou :9 [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

Tooru will keep this secret until his dying day, but in the month or so he’s been traveling on the _Nekoma_ , he’s found he doesn’t quite hate Fire Nation living. Their food is better than the Water Tribe (though not better than Ba Sing Se), even when it’s rationed military fare, and the mechanics of the ship are truly a marvel. It’s a little scary to think about sometimes how outclassed the Earth Kingdom could be in this fight, but the conflicts of war are never something he wanted to spend much time thinking about. He prefers to focus on what’s in front of him.

What’s in front of him right now is an increasingly common scene. It’s a late evening on the deck of the _Nekoma_ , sun already set and torches lit as they cool down in the river humidity with drinks and dancing. The helmsman Kai has proven himself to be an excellent musician – he sings almost more than he speaks – and his erhu is one of the most beautiful instruments Tooru has ever seen. (He asked about the craftsman, but of course they were Fire Nation and of course they were dead now.) Yaku in the engine room had half of his boilers brewing beer instead of steam; it was already on Tooru’s to-do list for the next trip to find a decent hops producer, even though they hadn’t made any plans to travel on the _Nekoma_ again in the future.

Ah well. It means that Tooru gets to sit by a fire in an old oil barrel, listening to good music and drinking good beer and watching people dance. His knee has been acting up all day, so he’s taking the time to ice it now so he can walk tomorrow. Everyone keeps checking on him, Makki keeping his beer full and Kindaichi his ice cold, but they also keep pairing off the swing each other around the fire barrel. Even Daichi gets tipsy enough to drag Hajime into the circle, laughing and tripping so Hajime has to catch him, soft smile on his face whenever he spins Tooru’s direction.

“Princess, you’re going to break my dinnerware.” Tooru jumps – his hands are too tight around the beer mug, clay creaking. He eases his grip as Kuroo sits himself down on the crate next to him, plopping down so it rattles and tilts under Tooru. He grabs the edge for balance and glares, bad leg teetering where it’s elevated on another old box. Kuroo ignores his glare, watching the same scene through his stupid hair. “Can’t say I really blame you.”

Tooru blinks, lips parting. “So I’m _not_ crazy.”

“Only if I am.” Kuroo spins a ring around on his finger, some big gold gaudy thing Tooru hated instantly from their first day aboard. “It’s strange,” he muses to the night, barely even talking to Tooru. “When I first saw them side by side, I assumed they were brothers. It seemed so natural.” He frowned. “Now I’m wondering if I was right after all.”

Tooru worries his tongue with his teeth. “The two of them have gotten – closer, on this trip,” he says. “Hajime’s always told me that Daichi is the guy he’d trust with his back no matter what.” Across the deck, Hajime spins Daichi under his arm and dips him, both's laughter audible from Tooru’s seat as Daichi clings to his shirt. “But…”

“Yeah.” Kuroo’s leg starts to jiggle, rocking their shared seat. “I could talk to him about it, I guess.”

Tooru honestly thinks about it, the sharp thing in his chest clawing at him to rip them apart and run off into the woods with Hajime over his shoulder. But he can’t run right now, and they both look just so damn _happy_. He sighs. “Oh, don’t ruin their fun,” he drawls. “Besides, it’s not like either of them are the kind to sneak around behind our backs.”

“True.” Kuroo claps his shoulder and steals his beer, draining it in one long gulp despite Tooru’s affronted gasp. He winks and gives the empty mug back. “Sweet dreams, Princess Plumblossom.” Tooru flails to hit him, but Kuroo just walks away and out of his immobile reach, sauntering over to cut in and steal Daichi from Hajime between songs. He ducks down to whisper in his ear, hair obscuring his face from view as his hands slide around to weave together at the small of his back. Daichi lets him, still swaying to the rhythm of Kai’s idle tuning.

Hajime wanders over to Tooru’s side and takes Kuroo’s vacant seat, settling down much more politely than Kuroo ever would. “What did the hothead have to say?” he asks, warm side pressed to Tooru’s. Tooru lays his head on his shoulder.

“Oh, just the usual firespitting,” he sighs. Hajime glances down into the beer mug and makes to get up and refill it, but Tooru grabs him around the waist and holds him down. Hajime huffs and lets him cling.


	29. Atsumu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Sorry for the massive delay on this one, but I had both some dumb work shenanigans and had to finalize the last few arcs of the whole thing before I could commit to this. It shouldn't happen again D: [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Tooru expects the inside of the Fire Nation fort to be strange and rough, wizened soldiers throwing them the stinkeye from behind their whetstones. He doesn’t expect it to be… familiar. He looks around as he and the _Nekoma_ party are ushered to the headquarters at the young faces, dirty but happy, throwing jokes around, playing dice, carving up game for dinner.

“Nervous?” Tooru glances down at the engine rat at his elbow – Shibayama. The kid grins. “It’s okay, me too!”

“I’m not _nervous_ ,” Tooru snaps, A hand lays on his other elbow; he turns to look at Fukunaga, who nods. Tooru gasps. “How rude!”

“Just look like you know what you’re doing and let Kuroo do the talking,” Shibayama says with a shrug. “It’s what we do.”

“I don’t trust that ponytail as far as I can throw him,” Tooru growls.

“Then you must trust him a lot then.” Tooru huffs, and Shibayama chuckles.

The double doors to the headquarters open ahead, a tall older man with an immaculate beard and a salt and pepper low ponytail emerging, trailed by aides. “Well, look what the cat-owl dragged in!” Kuroo steps forward to greet him, bowing before they clasped arms.

“Commander Hibarida,” Kuroo says, warm familiarity in his tone. “Who in the flame did you piss off to get dumped out here?”

The commander laughs, crows-feet deepening. “Oh, it’s just a temporary thing to get this shithole out of the mud. I’ll be back in the bay in no time.” He steps back to appraise Kuroo’s party. Tooru’s skin itches, but he keeps his hands clasped tight behind his back. “You’ve got some new faces since the last time we crossed wakes.”

“Only natural, sir. Got to keep the blood pumping.” Kuroo ruffles Shibayama’s hair, who squawks and jumps away. “This is Yuki Shibayama, Yaku’s new engine rat.” He pointed his thumb at Inuoka, who was doing his best not to hide behind Kuroo's back and failing. “We fished this one out of an ambush upriver. Say hi, Inuoka.” Inuoka jumped to the side to jerk off a bow, color high on his face as the commander nodded, expressive eyes softening. “And…” He trails off, smiling at Toru in a slow spread that he’ll _pay_ for later. “Private Li Mushi.” Kuroo jerks his thumb at Tooru as he struggles to keep his mouth closed. “We keep him around for fun.”

Tooru grinds his teeth, but Hibarida barely blinks, bowing to them with the fist-under-palm of the Fire Nation rather than fist-against-palm of the Earth Kingdom. _Right_. “Well, any crew of Kuroo’s is welcome here at Inarizaki.” He gestured back at the two-story building he had come out of. “Captain?” Kuroo opened a hand and let him lead the way back in. Tooru’s eyes narrow as he makes to follow, but Fukunaga grabs his elbow. Tooru glares down at him, but he just shakes his head as they disappear inside.

Two of the aides - almost identical, maybe twins? - take their place, one of them bowing to Kai and the other just staring. “Well, as the commander said, welcome to Fort Inarizaki.” He grins, and Tooru’s spine straightens of its own accord. “A pleasure to finally meet some of the legendary _Nekoma_ crew.” Kai just smiled at him, impassively pleasant as always. The grin stays on, but his eyes tighten. “Maybe we can catch up on those legends over lunch?” He gestures towards some rough wood tables set up around a fire pit by the wall where the fort soldiers are already starting to congregate. “I’m sure you’d like some shore food by now.”

Kai waved a hand as Tooru’s mouth watered. “If you’re offering, Lieutenant.” Kai’s smile sticks on. “I’d like to hear about these ‘legends’, myself.” The lieutenant’s twin frowns as Kai breezes past, Shibayama bouncing after him with Inuoka in tow and latching onto the youngest of the not-twin aides, who looks as terrified as Tooru feels. What on earth has he gotten himself into?

Fukunaga taps Tooru’s elbow and jerks his head to where they’re being left behind, holding up a flat and at a diagonal - _guard_. Tooru’s mouth quirks in a smile. “I’d figured that out for myself, thanks.” Fukunaga’s hands flash in Seijoh’s scouting sign language (he and Makki were closer than Tooru thought, apparently), Tooru’s eyes reading it before his head really comprehended. _Stay low and quiet. Ambush_. Tooru nods, and they rush to join the group at the outdoor mess. It’s going to be an interesting day.


	30. Fuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I love my son-in-law. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

Tooru has had _enough_.

He’s put up with Kuroo making him the packmule underling all day, being shut out of important conversations, having to act like he’s had his tongue cut out like Fukunaga just so no one asks him too many questions he can’t answer. He gets it. He’s got to prove he’ll do it to make Kuroo trust him in his territory. He would absolutely do the same to Kuroo in Ba Sing Se, if that horror story ever happened. But it’s stepped over a line in the night that he’s not willing to play along quietly with anymore.

“‘Just tell them I took care of it’,” he grumbles to himself as he pushes through the scraggly forest in the dark, rain dripping through the trees overhead. He kicks a blueberry bush – _fuck_ it. He crouches by it and picks off a few, popping them in his mouth, letting the tart juice wake him up a little. The stupid armor creaks as he rocks back and forth in his uncomfortable boots, trying to ease the pressure on the forming blisters. “He wants to ‘take care’ of everything himself he can tell _them_ that his _damn_ self.” He bites down on an unripe berry in the dark and pulls a face. He plops down in the wet pine straw, sighing as he stretches his legs out under the blueberry bush, clicking his boots together and leaning back on his hands. He stares up at the sky, tree limbs bending in the storm overhead, lightning flickering in the clouds. Raindrops drip on his face and flow back into his hair, wind-blown and sticky. He closes his eyes, wriggling his hands in his gloves. It’s strange to have all of his nine fingers gloves; he’s been fiddling with them all day. _Enough_.

He sits cross-legged and rips his gloves off, laying them over his knee and rubbing the nub of his left pinky. It always aches in the rain. He stares down at his hands, the sword callouses on his palms, the dirt under his short fingernails. His fingers have gotten tougher in the last few months, not quite calloused but durable, thicker. His friends back in Ba Sing Se would be appalled. He just reaches for another handful of blueberries.

The berry stop calms his temper and gives his tired body a boost and a break. When he’s exhausted the bush’s supply of ripe berries, he sighs and shoves to his feet, pulling his gloves back on as he stares down the slope towards the river and the fort. He has to come up with a better story by the time he gets there, something Kuroo and his crew can adjust to without a hitch, a way to keep the focus off the ship and on the forest, all while not trying to overstep his appointed station. He _really_ wishes he could run it by someone – Hajime, or Irihata, or Daichi-

He scowls at his gloves as the empty hole in his chest yawns wider, taking in rainwater. Earth and fire, is this really the longest he’s been alone since… Well. Ever?

He looks around at the tree-shadows, underbrush close-knit and rustling. Takes a deep breath. He’s alone, but he can do this. He sets off back to the fort.


	31. Takahiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Sometimes these things are hard, but sometimes they're almost unbelievably easy. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

“Hey, Oikawa? Can I bother you for a minute?”

Tooru looks up at the soft question at the door. He’s hiding in his given bedroom to do some paperwork and inventory while everyone else enjoys their first fresh air in three days, so he doesn’t expect anyone to talk to him for a few hours, least of all Makki. He’s fidgeting, running his fingers along the bolts of the door, chewing his lip and staring at Tooru’s brush. He puts it in its holder and smiles. “Of course. Not a bother at all.” Makki slips all the way in and slides the door closed behind him, coming over to perch on the trunk at the foot of the bed. He tugs at his fingers, joints cracking. Tooru turns in his desk chair (bolted to the floor like all the other furniture here) to face him, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Makki sighs, running his hands through his short hair. “Look. I’ll be straight with you. The other night, Issei and I…” He laced his fingers behind his neck and pressed down. “We almost did something like a mattress dance. We didn’t, but we _almost_.” Oh, right, that thing that Tooru hadn’t had a chance to think about yet. “And it’s been weird ever since, but I know _I_ wanna keep going if he does, and I think I know what his hangup is, and I don’t wanna make him do anything drastic before I can do it, so-” He sucks in a long breath, Tooru blinking in the wake of his ramble. Makki sets his jaw and makes eye contact. “Consider this my resignation.”

Something cold washes down Tooru’s back, followed by a sick heat. “Excuse me?”

“I- I mean…” Makki cleans out under the nails of one hand with the thumbnail of the other, breathing in a deliberate pattern. “This job… it’s been really good for Issei. He had a lot of – problems, before, but now he’s got purpose. Training. A place he can grow. I couldn’t take that away from him.” He switched hands. “But me? Sure, I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there, but I can go back home and have something to do. Sure, it’s not as cool, doesn’t pay as well, but-”

“Makki.” He looks up at Tooru, chewing on his nails. “Get to the point.”

“I love him,” he blurts out around a thumbnail. “And I’m not gonna let him use Seijoh rules as an excuse any longer.”

Tooru’s knuckles turn white where his hands are gripped together on his writing desk. “So this isn’t because you’re unhappy with the job? Or with…”

“No? No! No, why would you-” Makki shoots to his feet, flush blotchy under his freckles. “No, Oikawa, I’d _die_ for you, you know that! I just…” He yanks at his hair, pacing in short ovals in front of Tooru’s desk. “If anyone’s gonna do anything _stupid_ ,” he chokes out, “I’d rather it be me, s’all.” He rounds on Tooru. “So?”

Tooru stares up at him, face bright, freckles stark, eyes shining under mussed hair that needs a trim. He’s not just some servant, Makki is _his_ , his guard, a friend, and to _think_ that he has the _nerve_ -

“No.” Makki jerks back as Tooru shoves to his feet, gripping Makki’s elbows and glaring at him. “No, I _don’t_ accept your resignation over such _idiotic_ reasonings!” He shakes Makki hard, to knock the sense back into him. “Did you honestly think I would _fire_ you for loving somebody?”

Makki’s jaw flapped a few times. “Well- it’s happened before-”

“Horseshit. My _father_ has done it before, and it was _never_ the only reason!” He throws Makki aside and stamps his foot. “He made that rule so he didn’t have to deal with lovers’ quarrels all trip, _not_ so some _idiot_ can go all noble and self-sacrificing!” He pounds his fist into Makki’s shoulder, who winces and jerks away, clutching the spot. “I need _you_ far more than I don’t need a potential mountain drama!”

“ _Ow_ ,” Makki whines. “You hit hard.”

“That’s because I’m _pissed!_ ” Tooru snaps, punctuating it with a hit to Makki’s other arm. “I can’t _believe_ you!”

Makki pouts, arms crossed over his chest to hold each spot. “You… really need me?”

“Of course I do! You wouldn’t _be_ here if I didn’t!” He props his fists on his hips. “I need _everyone_ on my team to be at the top of their game all the time or this whole thing falls apart! You’re each important unique pieces of this and I don’t want to do this without a single one of you!”

Makki stares at him, arms clutched around him like he’s cold. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about us,” he breathes. Tooru lets out a strangled noise, hands fluttering.

“That’s- of course I- you-” He huffs. “Really?” Makki nods, and Tooru deflates. “Then I need to do a better job of showing my appreciation, then.” He steps forward and hugs Makki close, crossed arms and all, a surprised gasp gusting down his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing his ribs. “I couldn’t have gotten nearly this far without you.”

“Aw, stop it.” Makki wiggles one arm out from between them to swing it around Tooru, fingers in his hair. “You’re gonna make me get all sentimental.”

“That’s the _point_ , rockhead.” He gives one last squeeze and lets him go, catching the sniff and smile before Makki can hide it. “I’m serious,” he says, holding Makki’s shoulders. “I can’t imagine doing any of this without a single one of you, and I don’t want to.” Makki grins, all teeth and tears. Tooru thumbs one away, worn cotton glove absorbing it. “And you shouldn’t let something as silly as me stand in your way, if you really want to make you and Mattsun work.”

Makki laughs, choking on a half-sob. “I came here to quit and instead I get your blessing.” He grips Tooru’s forearm, knuckles white, fingers digging into flesh, but Tooru doesn’t flinch. “Never change, Oikawa.”

Tooru swallows. “I’ll change. But we’ll change together.” He cups Makki’s face and pulls him down to kiss his forehead. “Now go. And don’t ever try to quit on me again.” Makki laughs and hugs him one more time, spinning them a little, before running back out of the room, hollering through the front room and down the hall. Tooru shakes his head after him, then wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand and gets back to work.


	32. Daishou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Moving my subtext up to just... text. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

_I’m not Hajime, you know_.

Tooru knows that, Tooru _knows_ that, but that doesn’t stop his hands from roaming, dragging at sweat-slick skin and pulling dark hair, smelling it, scratching his face up and leaving tingling scars behind. Warm hands hold him, wide and too many, breath hot on his neck, flames licking down his chest. _I’m not Hajime_.

“I know,” Tooru mumbles, twisting over on the cloud they’re living on, wrapped up tight. A laugh in his ear, deep and warm, earth-fathoms, something to get buried in. He’s elbow deep already.

The cloud gives under him, roiling like a sea. The hair trickles away. “What do you want from me?” the earth-deep laugh asks him, but Tooru doesn’t have to answer as rock fingers track down his chest, crumbling like dead flowers, tea leaves stuffed between his ribs. Tooru gasps, eyes unable to open as the earth laughs at him, encasing his joints. Something distant covers his mouth – distant, wet, he can still breathe around it. There’s a fog over all his senses, taste and smell and sound muffled with raw cotton, seedpods still inside. He tries to reach through it to the thing on his mouth, black at the edges. He can’t move his arms, so he licks, tongue fat in his other mouth. He drinks down spit like tea.

“Dear, oh dear,” the laugh says. “Whatever will I do with you?”

Tears leak out of Tooru’s eyes, dripping into his ears, as the laugh pulls him in, sunrays over mountains filling his muscles. “It’s okay,” it whispers into his head. _You know, I’m not Hajime_. Tooru breathes, too loud, like waves on the wind. He lifts a hand…

Blinks awake. It’s still dark, moonlight low through white curtains. Right. Party. Beach. Old pirates. He stares at his hand, lifted overhead. He’s sweating through the few clothes he – wait. He doesn’t have clothes on. That’s just the blanket, and the modgepodge of cushions, and Hajime between them with him. Fingers run over Tooru’s chest; he looks down and is almost surprised there aren’t any petals. He drops his hand like a lead weight, Hajime curling more into his side.

“That sounded like a nice dream,” Hajime mutters into Tooru’s neck. He winds his leg around Tooru’s, their feet sticking out from under the twisted blanket cool in the ocean breeze. Hajime’s hand slides lower, tracing the line of Tooru’s hipbones – oh. Shit. Tooru gulps as Hajime grips. “What happened?”

Tooru clenches his eyes shut as Hajime lets him go (bless him), grasping at impressions of dirt and tea and canyon-deep laughter running into one… “Please don’t get mad,” Tooru whispers, kissing Hajime’s hair.

“What, d’I die?” Hajime chuckles, but the itch behind Tooru’s ribs won’t let him join in.

“No, you weren’t there.” Tooru swallows, squeezing Hajime tighter. “I think… it was about… Daichi,” he forces out.

“Oh.” A breath of a pause. Tooru’s heart twists in a vice. “Is that all? Fuck, about time.” Hajime wriggles to lie almost on top of him, nose behind Tooru’s ear. “I’ve been having _those_ for, like, a month now,” he yawns.

Tooru squeaks. “ _Iwa-chan!_ ” Hajime shrugs, arms wrapping around Tooru’s chest, seams of the cushions they’re sprawled on cutting into Tooru’s back. “And you didn’t think to _tell_ me?”

“Didn’t ask,” Hajime mumbles. His skin is hot on Tooru’s. “Now go back t’sleep, we’ll talk abou’ it la’er,” he says through a bigger yawn. Tooru opens his mouth to argue, but Hajime slaps a hand over it, making Tooru sputter on his fingers. “No. Morning. Sleep.” Tooru grumbles, but spits out Hajime’s fingers and sighs, letting Hajime and his sweaty gross body cling, smiling as the rising and falling pattern evens out against his. He doesn’t sleep.


	33. Koutarou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I'm gonna miss the island the most out of any of my settings here. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It’s a glorious morning at Nohebi. Tooru really wishes he had the time and capacity to enjoy it. As it stands, he has to drag his sorry hangover crew out of the holes they crawled into in the night and force breakfast in their faces before sailout. _He’s_ managed to do it on a night of bare and bad sleep. What’s _their_ problem?

“Come _on_ , up and at ‘em!” he chirps, hauling a groaning Makki off a comatose Mattsun. “Stars, what do you _eat?_ ”

“ _Everything_ ,” Issei moans from the dead. Makki flaps a foot in his direction, limp in Tooru’s arm. Tooru sets him down and holds him up until he’s standing on his own, then kicks at Mattsun until he rolls to his hands and knees, hair limp curls. Tooru pats Makki’s back and bounces off to rally the rest of the troops.

He’s working to slap life back into a bleary Tanaka when Kuroo’s stupid ponytail bops down the stairs, whistling nonsense. Tooru wrinkles his nose, but Kuroo doesn’t see it, or if he does he doesn’t care. He grabs a mango from the fruit bowl on the dish-littered main table and starts to peel it with his beltknife, licking off juice as he perches on the edge of the table. “Rough night?” he asks, winking behind his hair. Tooru sticks out his tongue.

“Hey, shithead,” Tanaka mumbles, slapping at Tooru’s arm. “Fuck him the shut up.”

“I would if I could, farmboy.” He stands from his crouch to face Kuroo’s smug little smirk. “Are you here for a _reason_ or just to gloat?”

Kuroo shrugs, taking a bit of his half-peeled mango. “Both.” He jerks his chin at the open balcony. “Can I talk to you a second?”

Tooru frowns. “If you must.” Kuroo leads the way outside, trailing juice drops on the reed mats covering the hardwood. Tooru’s lip curls, but he complies, meeting Kuroo at the railing. Kuroo hops up on it, sitting on the top log and crossing his legs. Tooru really want to push him off the edge, but Daichi would be sad so he doesn’t. Kuroo offers him a piece on the knife, but Tooru waves it away. Kuroo shrugs and eats it himself. “You wanted to talk,” Tooru says.

“Take it easy, we’ve got some time.” His foot swings, heel banging on a pole. “It was a real question, earlier,” he says. “What do you remember from last night?”

Tooru snorts. “Chaos and mayhem. Felt like I was back in Ba Sing Se already.” He peers down at some figures walking on the beach some of islanders, although he can’t tell from this altitude. “Different people, same results.”

“People are the same wherever you go.” He tosses his lapful of mango peels off the edge into the leaf cover trailing over the volcano rock. “It’s always fun to watch them pretend like they are.” Tooru rolls his eyes.

“How philosophical.” Tooru scowls. “Why’re you curious about what I _remember_?” Kuroo stares at him, hard and long, stupid hair waving in the breeze. Tooru stares back, flicking through hazy memories of smoke and colors – a dream…

Kuroo’s eyes narrow. “I won’t tell if you don’t want me to,” he whispers.

Tooru swallows on a dry mouth. “Don’t be mad at him,” he breathes.

“Of course not. As you said before, it’s not like he’s the kind to sneak around behind my back.” Tooru rubs his itching skin. Kuroo’s mouth twists. “Don’t spend too much time on it, princess. We all have our moments.”

Tooru looks away. “Well. Okay.” He rubs his thumb into his wrists – catches on cloth. He glances down at Daichi’s hairtie on his wrist. He pops it, clears his throat. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

“No, actually.” He spins the tie on his wrist. “I actually had a suggestion to run by you, about your land transportation.” Tooru flips his hair from his eyes as he looks back at Kuroo. “You don’t have any lined up yet, do you?”

Tooru frowns. “No, I was planning on finding some hires in port. They’re always crawling with them.” He smiles, leaning on his forearms. “Why, did you have some friends in mind?”

“Why, yes, in fact.” He waves a hand at the house. “I was gonna send a bird to make sure they were in town, but I wanted to… see if you were interested.” He pulls the last fibers of mango off the pit with his teeth. “They’re a good bunch, if a little rowdy. Think y’all might get along well.”

Tooru swishes the offer around. He wants to say no, just to piss him off, but it would be nice not to have to hunt through taverns for the least grimy crew in port. He sighs. “Oh, fine, send your bird or whatever. Saves me some work.” Kuroo blinks, and Tooru rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so surprised.” He braces himself to say, “You haven’t let us down so far. I guess I don’t have a reason _not_ to agree.”

Kuroo presses the clean mango pit to his heart. “Why, _princess_. I doon’t think I’ll ever recover from such flattery.” Tooru tries to shove him off the balcony, damn Daichi’s feelings, but Kuroo scoots away and hops off, tossing the pit over his shoulder. “I’ll set it up for you, then.” He stretches, back arching with his hands laced over his head, yawning. “Well, I’ll go drag the beloved out of bed. Good luck with the rest of them.” He heads back inside and upstairs, Tooru left to watch with lips pursed and an unsettling feeling like respect nagging at the back of his head.


	34. Green River Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: These dumb kids. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

“ _Daichi!_ ” Tooru kicks the ground below him that he’s just been shoved out of like some- some _root vegetable_. The ground rumbles, low and only heard because he’s paying attention, off towards the stables. Tooru grits his teeth and starts to march to them. He wasn’t _done_ , dammit. How _dare_ he kick Tooru out like that? He hadn’t even-

He freezes, heels skidding in the dirt right before he steps in the lights concentrated around Fukurodani’s ‘stage’. He hadn’t even _what?_ Oh, dear. He falls back, clutching his tunic. What had he…

“Tooru?” He gasps as a wide hand settles on his lower back. “You okay?” Tooru spins into Hajime’s arms and bawls into his shoulder, clutching him close. “ _Oof_ , okay then.” Hajime pats his back, shushing him. “What were you doing underground?” Tooru wails and hugs Hajime tighter. “ _Augh_ , put me _down_ , earth and fire!” Tooru drops him, and Hajime coughs. “You really need to learn your own strength,” he mutters.

“Iwa- _chan!_ ” Tooru cries. Hajime holds his elbow, glancing towards the people watching from the edge of Fukurodani’s audience, and pulls Tooru away, back towards the inn proper and out of range. Tooru leaks the whole way, wiping his dripping face on his shoulder.

“Okay.” Hajime’s rough hand cups his cheek and holds his face so he has to look in Hajime’s bright green eyes. “Talk to me.”

Tooru’s lip trembles. “I _ruined_ it, Iwa-chan!” The other hand comes up, thumbs wiping at his cheeks. “I blew it _all!_ ”

“Calm down, love. What happened?”

Tooru hiccups, gasps. “Daichi, he- I…” He presses his cheeks into one of Hajime’s hands, eyes fluttering closed as the world spins. “I fucked it up.”

“Oh, love. It’s all right.” The hands slid down his neck, arms, to hold his hands. “C’mon. Let’s get somewhere private where you can cry all you want and then tell me the details.” Tooru chokes on a teary laugh as Hajime draws him away, away from the noise and the hole in the ground.


	35. Tooru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: The sexy part will be in Advantage, when I finish writing it. I had to do Adult Stuff here, and not the fun kind. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Tooru doesn’t tell anyone, but he’s relieved to have Mr. Nobu back at his side. It’s a rush to lead his crew on his own, but a shaky one, like one wrong twitch will send the whole operation into the ocean. Mr. Nobu is good at reassuring him he’s making the right choice and not sending them all to early graves. The first few nights back together are spent catching up, talking about personnel and supply issues and stories from their time apart. Both halves of the team had seen some excitement on the road, and powered through a lot of tea to cover it all.

It’s late on their first night out of Wakunan South, everyone else asleep already – even Hajime, who didn’t even make a fuss about slipping into the suite’s bedroom while Mr. Nobu hid his smile behind his teacup and pretended not to notice. The tea is long gone now, Tooru past his second wind and sprawled out on the threadbare divan, Mr. Nobu slumped in an armchair with his socked feet propped up by Tooru’s hip. Tooru presses his cheek into the rough embroidery of a throw pillow, feet kicking in the air as Mr. Nobu tells him about the new headwoman of Amemaru, the friendly blacksmith from the wildfire fighting. He had liked her and her tiny husband, so it’s nice to hear they had outvoted the previous toady in their election.

“Nice to hear we still have friends in the area,” Tooru says with a yawn.

Mr. Nobu hums. “It’ll make your new captain’s job a lot easier.” Tooru stiffens. “You _have_ thought about who it’ll be, right?”

Tooru groans and shoves his face in the pillow. “ _Mr. Nobu! Now?_ ”

“Yes, now.” He nudges Tooru’s side with his foot. “Iwaizumi would make an excellent choice,” he offers. Tooru sucks in a breath.

“You think?” Tooru’s eyes flutter on a vision of Hajime held forever at his side, an equal member of his family, beloved by all and –

He squashes it down with a hand on the couch cushion. “I can’t,” he forces out, pillow damp under his eyes. “He can’t.”

Mr. Nobu’s raised eyebrow and frown are audible. “And why not?”

Tooru bites his cheek and turns his head to one side. “I should let him tell you,” he mutters, playing with the fringe on the pillow. “He wouldn’t like me telling people without his knowledge.” He sighs. “But, long story short, love or money won’t convince him to go back inside the Inner Wall for a long, long time.”

A long pause. “I’m sure there’s a good story there.” Tooru nods. Mr. Nobu resettles in his chair, crossing his ankles the other way. “Well. If Iwaizumi is off the table. Who?” Tooru bites his lip hard enough to hurt. “Don’t think about who’s qualified,” he continues, voice low and soothing. ‘Just answer this one question: who would you trust with your life?”

Tooru chokes on a laugh. “All of them?” He forces a smile, eyes still shut. “That doesn’t help me much, Mr. Nobu.”

“There are worse problems to have.” He nudges Tooru’s hip again. “Okay, different angle. If you could pick anyone to be sitting where I am right now, pestering you to make a decision you don’t want to make, who would it be?”

Tooru frowns. He wiggles around to lay on his back and stare at the pine ceiling, track he grooves on the grain. Even if the idea of Hajime as his captain is… appealing, deep down, he knows that Hajime would never be happy. Even without the Dai Li addendum, Hajime is too quiet, only offering his thoughts in private or in a trusted group. He values Hajime’s input like pure sugar, and the boys trust him, but Tooru knows that he needs more than an afterthought. He needs a partner that’s more level-headed than him, the stone to balance out his water. Someone to fill in the gaps in his offense, show him the third option. And, really, there’s only one answer to it.

“Daichi,” he breathes. “I want Daichi.”

Mr. Nobu doesn’t even fake surprise. “We’re on the same side of the scroll, then. Good.” He groans as he gets to his feet, slow and creaky after so long in the chair. “It’ll take some doing to get him out of the Sugawara employ,” he yawns, stretching.

“I’ll handle Koushi.”  Tooru sits up with a pout. “Hey, why did you tease me with Iwa-chan if you wanted me to pick Daichi, too?” Mr. Nobu smiles, eyes tired.

“Because Hajime would be your heart’s choice.” He grimaces as he pushes his back forward, bones popping. “He’s good for you, and he’s quick in a fight, but he doesn’t quite have the head for the job. He could learn it, in time, but he’s not a natural like Sawamura.” He tilts his head side to side, neck cracking. “I’ve been watching him for it since the bandit attack,” he admits, “but Nekomata’s report cinched it. He’ll do you proud.”

Tooru blinks, exhausted brain struggling against the current. “Nekomata’s _report?_ ”

Mr. Nobu grins. “What, did you _really_ think I left you without a backup? He had some very useful insight onto the team’s structure without us pesky adults around.” Tooru puffs up, and Mr. Nobu chuckles, patting his leg. “Go to sleep, son. We’ll talk more tomorrow about the details and then see what Sawamura thinks.” He steps back so Tooru can swing his feet to the carpet. “After all, if he says no, we’ll have to start this all over.”

Tooru freezes, half-standing. “You think he won’t take it?”

“A lesson to learn: never assume someone will do what you want.” He turns his back on Tooru’s distress and leaves, dropping a quick, “Good night, Tooru,” at the door. Tooru blinks – no, he’s crazy, of _course_ Daichi will take the job. Of course.

He shakes it off and goes to crawl into bed with Hajime, burying himself in lemongrass. Of _course_.


	36. Daichi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: This one wasn't easy, but it needed to happen. Sorry to end on a negative note, but hopefully the two Advantages in the works will make up for it :) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [instagram for sticky note doodles!](http://www.instagram.com/carriecmoney)}

Tooru doesn’t see or hear Koushi when he bursts in the front door and scares the life out of two maids peering in from the parlor, the youngest of the Sugawara brood clutching both their skirts. Tooru ignores them and glares up the wide staircase where he can just hear a door slam. He grinds his teeth and takes the steps two at a time. He knows where Koushi is.

He storms down the hall to the library, then pauses at the door to collect himself. Deep breath, another. He knocks.

“ _Get out,_ ” Koushi’s muffled voice snaps at him. Tooru props his hands on his hips.

“C’mon, Kou, grow up. I’m coming in.” He slides open the door and slips in, closing it behind him and making sure the latch catches. Koushi has thrown himself face-down on the old futon under the tall window, sunlight cracking through the shutters. Tooru crosses his arms. “And you call _me_ the drama queen.”

Koushi whips his head around to glare over his shoulder, braid slapping over the futon back. “For once in your cursed life, will you _shut up?_ ”

“No.” Tooru had been rehearsing this conversation in his head for days, but that careful script is swept away as he taps his foot and says, “I get why you’re upset, I really do. But crying about it won’t do anything.”

“Oh yeah?” Koushi sits up, throwing aside the pillow he was clutching. “You _get_ it, huh?” He rubs his temples, forehead furrowed, baby hairs wild around his face. “What’s he doing in your colors, Tooru.”

“I asked him to work for me. He agreed.” He crosses the library, grabbing the hard desk chair as he passes and spinning it to sit backwards on it in front of Koushi, who stays still, watching his approach with blazing eyes in a red face. “It’s a decision we made together, but it was his choice to say yes. It wasn’t offered lightly.”

Koushi grips his pants at the knees. “So, what, you’re adding him to your guard? Don’t you have _plenty_ …” He trails off as Tooru shakes his head. “No? Then what _is_ he to you?”

Tooru grits his teeth against that one. “He’s my captain.” Koushi’s eye’s blow wide.

“No.” He shakes his head, braid whipping like Snowflake’s tail, knocking an inkwell off the windowsill behind the futon. They both ignore the dull _thump_ of it staining the carpet (it’s had worse). “No, he’s not. He…” He shoves to his feet, fists at his sides. “There’s no way! He’s not – he doesn’t know what the _hell_ he’s getting into-”

“Yes, he does.” Tooru stays seated, letting Koushi tower over him like he feels he needs to. “He’s been doing it the whole trip, to various extents. He’s a natural leader.” Koushi’s nostrils flare. “You _know_ that, Koushi. You have to. He’s too big to farm his life away.”

Koushi punches his shoulder, hard. Tooru doesn’t flinch. “How _dare you_ ,” he hisses, hands trembling. “How fucking _dare_ you!”

Tooru grips the slats of the chair back tighter and lets Koushi slap his other shoulder. “I’m not saying that you and yours don’t care about him,” he says like he’s not being assaulted by his oldest friend, “but y’all were strangling him here. I saw it. Not right away, but he got happier through the summer. Better. All of my boys would trust him with their life, and so do I. I need him. He’s a different Daichi than you knew in the spring.”

Koushi strangles air, stomps his feet. “What are you _talking_ about? He was _fine!_ He didn’t _need_ you to go in and _change_ him like some _project!_ ”

Tooru thinks he’s handled being yelled at like a misbehaving child well up to this point, but sometimes… He shoves up to his full height, bad knee on the chair and hands white-knuckled on the top of the chair, getting into Koushi’s space so he has to lean back. “Sit down and shut up, _Sugawara_ ,” he growls, teeth grinding. Koushi stands firm, glaring back. Tooru shoves his shoulder so he falls back on the futon with a reflex gasp. “For someone who’s always preaching change at me,” he says, tone clipped, “you sure are fighting it right now.”

“Some things _have_ to change,” he bites, arms tight around his chest. “Daichi is – was – _perfect_.”

And he sees it. Looking down at Koushi, red-splotched and breathing hard, mixed with the way Daichi had always said ‘Suga’ like a secret, the dance he had only seen one side of for so long, what it felt like when Daichi focused on him alone. Both of them, they were too close to it, but it tore through him like old ricepaper. Maybe they had loved each other, but they each had a perfect picture of the other painted in their head, and neither wanted to refresh it with time. Just like Daichi had a soft version of the Koushi Tooru knew, Koushi knew a quieter, subdued Daichi, one who would never challenge a landowner over an abused teenager or fall in love with a renegade Fire Navy captain or barter for apricots against ivory. It was – sad, really.

He sighs, grip on the chair easing. Koushi pulls a knee up to lay his cheek on it, looking at the wall of old scrolls and new books, stacked in shelves with a fresh coat of paint since the last time Tooru was in here. The desk Tooru had stolen the chair from is covered in paper and plans, books behind it weighing down the top edge of a hanging design – that new addition to the barn Koushi had written so much about. Tattered quills and ink-stained brushes littered every flat surface in reach of the desk, books open flat under the chaos. Koushi had been busy. He had probably been waiting for Daichi to come back and help him organize it all. Then again, every impression Tooru had gotten was that no one here knew how smart Daichi was with more than plants, how fast he had picked up book learning in the North Pole, math and politics as natural to him as anything else he picked up over the summer. It would probably never occur to Koushi to ask for Daichi’s opinion on this.

“I never thought I would lose him,” Koushi mutters, cheek pushes against his knee. “He was – always. A constant. No matter how things changed, Daichi was there.”

“He’s not _dead_ , Kou.” Koushi huffs. Tooru sits back down, crossing his arms around the back of the chair and holding opposite slats. “I know what it’s like not to know what you feel about someone until they’re- not available,” he says, voice cracking. “I know that it’s scary to think that they’re different, that they might feel different.” He meets Koushi’s sharp glare with steady eyes. “I don’t know how Daichi feels,” he explains without prompting. “I haven’t asked. But I know if you try to keep him here, it _will_ change. He doesn’t take kindly to ‘you can’t’ – at least, not anymore.”

Koushi doesn’t respond, just rocks a little on the futon, shining eyes stuck on the far bookshelf. “I asked you to watch out for him,” he mutters, squeezing his leg, “and you _stole_ him from me.”

Tooru scowls. “Let me make one thing _perfectly_ clear,” he snaps. “Daichi isn’t some shiny rock, or an ostrich-horse, or some _property_. He’s his own person. There was nothing _to_ steal.” His cold, logical front drops for a moment as he bites out, “Really, as long as you keeping thinking of him – or anyone – like that, you don’t deserve them.” Koushi growls, but Tooru is tired of this. He has no patience for the peerage’s habit of seeing those born differently as lesser on a good day. Usually he bites his tongue and smiles until he can slip a tip to the abused service worker, since it’s not polite to call a family friend a disgraceful classist in the middle of a dinner party, but he draws a line with Daichi. “Grow up, Koushi,” he says, standing up. “Daichi has.” He stares down at Koushi for a breath, both their jaws set. He spins on his heel and stalks out of the library, slamming the door hard enough that it shakes in its slot. Maybe Auntie Suki can make her son see reason. She has to.

He wasn’t letting Daichi stay here, not for all the tea they ever grew.


End file.
